


Gonna need (a spark to ignite)

by FinditAgain



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Polyamory, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Threesome, brief panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinditAgain/pseuds/FinditAgain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Enjolras tries to defy social expectations, Grantaire is a self-sacrificing idiot, and Combeferre just wants a chance.</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>Soul Bond AU where the norm is to be bonded to someone meant as your “perfect match”, as a young boy Enjolras wakes up one day bondless with no explanation. For the rest of his life he struggles with balancing what he wants with everyone else’s expectations. Things get complicated when he falls in love, just in time for his soul mate to reappear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna need (a spark to ignite)

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of months ago a soul mate craze started in the LM fandom which, coupled with an old idea from a half developed Merlin idea, gave birth to this story that was never actually going to be written. Thank you Big Bang moderators for giving me a good excuse to sit down and make the time for writing and posting my first fic in this fandom. It’s been fun!
> 
> I want to thank my amazing beta [MiniMangaFan](http://achilleus.tumblr.com/) , whose help and comments made this story readable and of course the ever kind and patient [Sovin](http://sovinly.tumblr.com/) , check out the awesome [Mix](http://8tracks.com/outline-s-ovin/scars-that-remain) she made!
> 
> Warning for childhood anxiety and brief panic attack.

**Enjolras**

**2014**

 

It’s pure chance that makes Enjolras choose this specific café.

It’s a sunny, almost too cheery Saturday morning. The kind that makes you feel sticky by virtue of simply going outside. He was already halfway towards Cosette’s office when she texted that she needed more time, and could they meet somewhere instead? 

He walks along the street until he finds a place with the three essentials of his summer days: air conditioning, Wi-Fi and coffee. Cosette works just around the corner so it looks to be a rather convenient meeting spot. He briefly wonders why they’d never been in here before.

There are only about three people sitting inside; just a couple more stand in line to order. He takes his turn and debates whether to get an extra shot of coffee or not. On the one hand, he’s barely slept preparing the Jean Jaurès homage article, but he’s also feeling on edge, his hands won’t stop trembling and his mouth is dry. His hair is already a mess from him playing with it so much, and it isn’t even 11:30. Cossette would tell him to skip getting coffee all together. He’s getting a tall cup anyway, serves her right for being late.

After paying for his coffee he picks a table for two and sits facing the door, this way Cossette can’t miss him. The familiar scent of his black coffee is comforting; he revels in it as he looks around at the wide comfortable looking sofas, giving the impression of a homey sort of establishment.

For some reason he feels a bit out of balance just sitting there alone, like there’s something he’s meant to be doing right now. 

Looking down at the items he’s placed on the table, he grabs his wallet and entertains himself by organizing all of the business cards that Courfeyrac has managed to enter in it without him noticing. It’s a nervous gesture, but it beats drumming his fingers against the table. Rationally, he knows his sister should be there soon. Still, he’s feeling uneasy.  There’s a sort of…electricity cursing through him. It starts around his fingers and seems to crawl right up to his chest. It itches, though of course he has the decency not to go scratching himself right there in public. Fiddling with his wallet gets old quick. He finally just takes out his phone to pass the time answering emails.

After a moment he blinks and realizes he isn’t looking down at his phone anymore. His gaze has wandered towards the entrance without him noticing. Shaking his head, he looks down again, searching for Jehan’s last message about his next poetry reading.  On instinct he looks up once more, though there was no sound or movement to catch his attention. He’s stuck looking, _fixating_ at the door. There’s nothing there, he just knows he’s waiting. Something’s going to happen.

He sees the motion of the door as it swings open.  The room falls silent to his ears. 

A man walks through the door, gaze locking with Enjolras’ instantly.

The reaction in Enjolras is immediate; panic bubbles up his throat and his jaw clenches. He's itchy all over.

The man takes a step closer and no, just- No. Enjolras shakes his head but the man is already coming closer. Enjolras hand comes up automatically to grip his left shoulder. His legs are trembling and oh, look at that, he’s stood up from his chair without even noticing. His heart starts pounding increasingly faster and faster.

The man is standing right in front of him.

 

*** 

**2002**

 

Enjolras wakes up alone.

The bed is a mess, the sheets are half unmade instead of tucked around the corner of the mattress. His head is barely on the pillow and he can’t feel the usual softness of his comforter. He sits up, pressing a hand to his head as he’s hit by an unexpected wave of dizziness.

There’s an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach that’s making him nauseous. Clutching at the sheets with both hands, he closes his eyes tightly and tries to force the sensation away. Getting sick on a Friday would be terrible.

He really doesn’t feel well. Something is _wrong_.

It’s not his body though, because nothing really hurts. There isn’t anything he’s meant to worry about either, no leftover homework for school or chores to do. No real sense of emergency. But something important is missing, as if it fled his body and crept out the window while he was still sleeping.

Getting out of bed feels like — it’s like he’s falling with his feet already on the ground.

Though the hallway on the top floor is brightly lit, it’s easy to tell that it’s empty, save for him. That means he won’t find Father in his study, or probably home at all, so he searches for his governess instead. Enjolras is used to spending a lot of time alone in the manor for the most part, with the exception of Fantine, and some weekends when Cosette gets to visit.

He finds her in the kitchen, singing along to the radio while she makes breakfast. She glances up from where she’s buttering a piece of toast and smiles.

“Well, you're up early today.”

He sits on a one of the tall stools that sit across the giant kitchen counter. Everything in the room is big, like the fridge with double doors behind Fantine, and the large steel oven a little to her left. From where he sits he has a clear view of the scrambled eggs she’s making on the stove.  

“Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

Despite the fact that he’s not hungry at all, he likes their morning routine of eating breakfast together. Whatever Fantine makes him always includes a side of toast. She’s in charge of buttering it and he’s in charge of adding whatever flavor of marmalade he’d like. When Cossette is over she finishes them off with a covering of Nutella.

When he tells Fantine that it feels like he’s missing something she helps him look around the house, even though he can’t explain exactly what it is he’s lost. By the time she helps him find his old backpack, red blazer, and school necktie (which he’d hidden under his twin sized mattress – lesson learned) he’s already late for school.

“Don’t worry little angel, I’ll keep looking while you're gone,” Fantine tells him. A nice idea but not very useful when they can’t even know what she’d be looking for. She ruffles his hair and smiles.

The chauffeur takes him through the same road as always, yet the trip feels twice as long that morning. Enjolras is twelve years old but most days he wishes he could be older so he could do things like drive to school on his own or decide when he can skip it all together. Today would have been a good day to stay in bed but Fantine already let him miss too manyplenty of days so far this term, because he was dizzy or had one of his strong headaches. He’s been to doctors who’ve all said he’s fine; Father said he’d have words with Fantine if Enjolras missed school again.

By the time he gets to his classroom, he’s feeling tired, miserable and a bit out of breath. Not even his best friend, Courfeyrac, can cheer him up. His first two periods are spent alternating between nodding off and mentally following a path of ants he can see forming on the window. Enjolras is not a boy who is easily distracted from a history lesson, but today he just can’t seem to listen to his teacher for long. 

It’s in Life Science, third period, when he really starts to worry. His shoulders ache and he’s sweaty, he just wants to go home. All Madame Duval does in this class is sit at her desk reading from their textbook. It takes him a moment to realize his book isn’t even open, let alone at the same page. Once he tunes in to her voice and looks to his side to check Courfeyrac’s book he quickly finds it.

 “— _as a result of a limited inconsistency in factors controlling the expansion and migration of_ _skin cells. What differentiates a soulmark from a birthmark is the span and the coloring of the skin pigmentation. While birthmarks are typically benign and only a concern for your appearance, soulmarks are a physical by-product of the attachment or connection commonly known as a soul bond_.”

At his left, Courfeyrac is giggling softly while covering his mouth trying not to be heard. Enjolras shoots him a questioning glance and gets nothing in response. He tries to go back to reading but the letters on the page are blurry and out of focus.

 “—ular literature relates the term in the perceived meaning that two souls are destined to come together,” the teacher drones on, “It is commonly implied to be the strongest emotional attachment with another person that one can attain. The WHO estimates the rate of soulmarks at more than 73% of the population. Unlike birthmarks, soulmarks tend to appear before puberty, usually during the young childhood stage, rather than at birth. The lack of a soulmark is uncommon but not nonexistent. There is no known genetic predisposition—“

“Madame Duval?” a girl at the front eagerly raises her hand.

“Yes, Anna?”

“Is it true that the un-paired can’t get married?”

“Well, they can… technically.”

The same girl, Anna, frowns. “But how do they know who they belong to without a mark?”

“I- they pick each other in other ways. Now, go to page ninety one and—“

“But—” Anna continues on even though the teacher is pressing her lips together in irritation. “How do they know how they _feel_? I always know when my person is sad and I make it better.”

The teachers’ smile brightens when she leans in to talk closer to Anna, hands resting on the top of her legs. She looks like Courfeyrac’s mom when she gives their dog a treat. “That’s what we call a ‘surface emotion’ honey. Bonds are special because we can sense each other’s immediate feelings but we can’t read minds, can we? Soul mates need to talk to each other just like everybody else.”

Enjolras is about to point out that she was asking about the people _without_ bonds but Courfeyrac, who’s still laughing to himself and not paying any attention, looks a bit odd; kind of how Thomas Dickle did that one time Madame Duval had to take him to the infirmary because he’d eaten almost an entire jar of glue and thrown up.

"What’s wrong with you?" Enjolras asks, he really doesn’t need someone barfing all over his shoes today. He scratches at his chest and can feel the dampness from his sweat clinging to his shirt.

“Nothing,” says Courfeyrac, chuckling.

Out of all of the kids in _Ecole Des Aiglonet_ his best friend was, by far, his favorite. He did some pretty weird things like licking all over his apple before he ate it or pretending to set his homework on fire, but that made Enjolras like him even more.

 “What are they doing?” Enjolras takes a guess, since Courfeyrac is laughing alone he was probably laughing at the presence of his soul mate.

Soul mates can’t really talk to each other through a bond but his friend always had something to say about his nervous laughter; “ _they’re being silly_ ” or “ _they’re being stupid_ ” were his usual responses.

“I- I’m not sure,” he replies this time, giggling louder. “I think they’re really happy.”

Enjolras never giggles because of his soul mate. Sometimes he’ll feel an unusual rush of annoyance that he can’t really explain. But for the most part he doesn’t really get flashes of big feelings; instead his bond sends him a constant, steady hum of calm.

At the thought of his bond, a heavy sensation comes over his chest. Courfeyrac keeps giggling but now it sounds flat and far away, the world suddenly reducing to a horrible buzzing in his ears.

He’s missing something.

Courfeyrac is giggling.

It hits him like a rock to the head. What’s missing is his bond. The stable link of, well… _awareness_ of his soul mate is _always_ there; today he hasn’t felt it at all since he woke up.

 He’s sweating even more now; his hands are so wet they can barely hold on to the edge of the table. It’s missing and his calm is gone and his heart is beating so loud, if he closes his eyes it might fall out of his chest.

He can’t breathe. He needs to see his chest. He tries tearing at his shirt to get it off. His heart is racing. Courfeyrac’s face swims before his eyes. His friend isn’t laughing anymore, he’s screaming—

"What’s wrong?”

He wipes his face with a trembling hand and it comes back wet. He can’t close his eyes. He clutches frantically at his shoulder. He can’t- he’s going to die. He tries to suck in air but he can’t breathe. He’s going to die and he shouldn’t close his eyes but he can’t breathe. He feels so dizzy. He can’t close his eyes, he can’t-

“Oh god, Enjolras! _Enjolras_!”

The last thing he sees is Madame Duval’s reaching for him, before everything goes black.

Not for the first time, he wakes up in the school infirmary. The overhead lights are shining bright so it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. The space is small with bare walls and white floors making everything seem almost _too_ bright. It only takes a small movement of his head to notice a mop of black in the midst of all the glowing. For a second he thinks it might be some sort of mop before realizing that Courfeyrac is under the nurses’ cot.

“Enjolras,” someone calls softly. Looking to his left he finds Fantine. There’s no surprise at seeing her and not Father at his bedside. He knows the school _has_ to call Father when he’s sent to the nurses’ office; he’d like to know what stupid excuse could’ve kept him away this time.

“What happened?” he asks instead. As soon as he takes a closer look at her face he remembers.  Enjolras places his right hand on his chest over his mark expecting pain, but nothing seems different.

“You lost consciousness,” Fantine strokes his hair and sighs. “Your teacher said you were shaking and seemed very upset before falling out of your chair. How do you feel now?”

He wants to say _better_ but his throat itches and tears are welling up in his eyes. “My person is….they’re dead.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth Enjolras starts sobbing loudly.

“Oh, darling,” Fantine whispers, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, little angel. I’m so sorry.”

Someone else is there in a second, tugging impatiently at his shoulder until his back is pressed against Fantine. It’s the school nurse, he hadn’t even noticed she was in the room.

“Where’s his mark?” she asks while her eyes dart over him nervously. Fantine quickly reaches over his shoulders to unbutton his school shirt and uncover his chest.

“We need to—”

The nurse comes to a halt in front of him, she narrows her eyes and two sharp lines form between her thick eyebrows. Enjolras tries to take a look at his mark but her hand is already moving over it.

“Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t, so he shakes his head. His eyes are blurry from the tears but he can still make out a silent Courfeyrac now standing at the end of the bed. He looks back at Fantine to find her eyes dead serious and gazing straight into his own.

“Are you sure nothing hurts?”

 "I feel okay," he says eventually, but it’s a lie. He feels shaky and out of breath. And so… so scared.  There’s a funny taste at the back his mouth. All he wants is to close his eyes and let Fantine hug him.

“My bond is gone,” he says softly as the right words finally occur to him.

The nurse sighs and shakes her head, “Boy, look at your mark.

He does as she says; not really knowing what to expect, but his skin is exactly the same as always. His mark had always just been there at the center of his left shoulder blade, a mix of vibrant colors, blues, yellows and deep reds that all seemed a lot brighter against his pale skin.

“If his soul mate had died,” Fantine asks while looking at him, hands shaking slightly where she’s still holding him. “His skin would be… injured, wouldn’t it?”

“Injured?” the nurse scoffs. “The entire area of his soul mark would be burned, a second degree burn most likely. Why, with his age he’d have blisters and swelling already, not to mention the pain!”

Enjolras tries to understand but it doesn’t make any sense. His person is _gone_. He knows it the same way he knows his own name. Last night he went to sleep in a wave of quietness like always. His soul mate’s presence has been with him since he was little and now that he can _think_ he knows that’s what’s wrong, its removal absence is like losing something so blindly obvious he might as well have lost his sight.

Now, there was nothing surrounding him apart from the pounding in his ears, so loud he can’t hear what Fantine and the nurse are saying anymore. His hands are balled into fists by his sides, he can feel his nails digging into his palms but he doesn’t care. Nothing made sense. His mark was intact.

He had his mark and having a soul mark means having a soul mate. He had a soul mate but he doesn’t have one anymore. With a loud gasp for air he turns his head as tears keep raining down his face.

Courfeyrac is somehow still there, silent like Enjolras has never witnessed before. He hesitantly glances down at Courfeyrac’s hands which are lifeless against his sides. Even though the adults’ voices are getting higher and higher, it’s the sight of Courfeyrac that makes everything worse.

He died didn’t he? Enjolras is dead, or maybe his soul mate is and isn’t that the same thing? Would he be like his Father now, lifeless and dull, not caring about anything? Feeling like there’s nothing left inside him but this huge ball of panic. Would he really be on his own now?

His energetic, cheery friend is just standing there completely still, staring at him with a panicked expression on his face. That look is what makes Enjolras jump off the cot, turn and run.

*

 

**1996**

 

_The first hint of his soul mark appeared days after his mother’s funeral. He doesn’t remember much, just being angry at how unfair it was that she’d been there with him and then just— gone. He remembers crying for her, terrified that he was going to be alone without her, when, unexpectedly, his shoulder began to itch and colors started to sketch themselves into his skin. Only seconds after, Enjolras sensed his soul mate for the first time._

_He was still angry, so much so that he felt like screaming when a spark of something_ gentle _seemed to settle inside his chest._ _His heart stuttered as he caught his breath. There was a sense of stillness surrounding his anger now. The more he concentrated on how weird it was to be both angry and peaceful at the same time, the more uncomfortable the itch.  His knees started to wobble while he scratched as hard as he could._

_Was that him feeling so calm? It didn’t felt like him at all. Enjolras had learned to stay still a long time ago, but he’d never felt calm like this before. He forced himself to look away from the stain shaping itself on his skin. Not knowing what to do, he ran as fast as he could for help._

_“Father!” he cried, almost tripping over his own foot in his haste to find him. When he showed his father his shoulder, he  explained that i_ _t was a soul mark, meant to help Enjolras find his soul mate one day._

_“Mate?” Enjolras asked, frowning in confusion._

_“You’re best match, who will take care of you and always be there. Someone to love you,” he answered._

_“Like mommy?”_

_“Yes,” his father’s voice cracked as he answered. “Just like your mother.”_

_Enjolras nodded, eagerly accepting the explanation. That meant that there was going to be someone for him one day. He would belong alongside someone else because they would have the exact mark on their shoulder, just like his._

_That day, he spent hours in front of the mirror admiring how his soul mark was forming. It was amazing._

_After so long just staring at it, Enjolras went to sit in his father’s big lounge chair. He put his feet up and leaned against the backrest, pressing his face into the soothing fabric of the chair. Soon he rolled over and curled up into the chair as much as possible. He held his shoulder tightly and pressed against his soul mark as hard as he could, just to feel that it was there._

_While he stayed there, curved into a small ball, he made a wish. He hoped for his soul mate to come soon, to hold him tight just like his mother used to. He wished that no matter what, they wouldn’t be too busy for Enjolras like Father always was. He wished his soul mate would never die like Mother, or go to school far away like Cosette._

_As time passed, it became easier to identify the company of his bond mate as something separate from himself. Every once in a while he’d find himself with an awareness of emotion, like a little corner of him stored a box full of warmth. Sometimes he’d let himself bask in it. He never felt that way himself, not exactly; but almost as if just acknowledging it was there could fill him up with delight._

_Each night before sleeping he would trace his mark with the tips of his fingers, brows creased in concentration as he wondered what his person would be like._

 

*

 

**2002**  

The first few days are horrible, the weeks and months that follow are even worse.

He gets so angry most days; he yells at Fantine when she tries to get him to talk and he even breaks her favorite tea cup once. He doesn’t want to treat Fantine badly, and he doesn’t mean to throw things or get into trouble, but he gets so frustrated. He can’t stand her trying to baby him or his father ignoring everything and just patting him in the head, or even his teacher who won’t look him in the eye anymore. He gets so _angry_ at the smallest things and he doesn’t know how to make these feelings stop.

Father sends him to the doctors again. He even accompanies Enjolras to the first two visits, sitting patiently in the waiting room with Fantine. The image of him in his charcoal suit reading something called _Glamour_ is rather bizarre.  

They check his mark over and over again. They swipe at it with a small pointed knife, and study it through small one eyed binoculars connected to big machines.

"Why is this happening?" Fantine asks one of the first doctors they visit, “there’s no change to his skin but he says he can’t feel them anymore and he- he’s, he cries at night. Barely remembers doing so in the morning but it lasts for _hours_.”

The doctor shifts in his chair while he examines something on the computer screen. He doesn’t move his head but still manages to give sidelong glances at Enjolras as if he was going to burst out crying right there in his office.

“The bond affects each person differently, even couples that are already bonded don’t always react to their connection the same way. The most common indication is that people can sense their equivalent’s emotions, however some say they can feel each other’s pain or even share dreams.”

He turns slowly, almost unwillingly, to face Fantine. “There are… factors that can disrupt the bond or even, possibly, damage it permanently.”

Enjolras crosses his arms and can’t help but glare directly at the man. He won’t address at all Enjolras and it makes him want to scream.

“What kind of factors?” Fantine calmly asks.

“I couldn’t say. None of the boys’ results point to any irregularities in the mark, which is the only physical representation of the bond itself. Sometimes discoloration or changes in size can indicate mental instability in the partner or a rare disease, but this mark is unharmed. Unless he finds his soul mate we may never know the exact cause. We— there’s nothing we can do except monitor the mark in hopes of gathering more information.”

Everything in him goes loose. Fantine swiftly grips his hand but it falls from her own almost immediately. If he’d been standing he would’ve fallen to the floor.

“The bond serves as a _beacon_ ,” Fantine reminds the doctor, raising her voice. “How is he meant to find them if he- if he can’t _feel_ the—” she chokes on a sob, trying not to cry in front of him. It’s kind of funny how upset she is when all Enjolras feels is numb. Does this mean that he doesn’t have a soul?

 If he’ll never have a soul mate, is he incomplete now?

The other doctors aren’t any better. There are countless needles and peeing into cups and too much time staring at his mark, yet the doctors can’t find anything physically wrong with him. They’re supposed to be smart but they don’t know anything about anything; doing the same tests over and over again is stupid and he tells them as much. The appointments stop when the sixth pediatrician recommends a ‘psychological evaluation’.

Father doesn’t ever accompany them to Dr. Magloire’s office.

 She calls herself a _bond expert_ and with her his Thursday afternoons soon become duller and duller.  It’s not really that Madame Magloire is boring; her long black braids and big owl like glasses are enough to entertain him through their 50 minutes a week together. It’s more about how she keeps repeating the same things every time he sees her, telling him to ‘ _be positive’_ and how _‘young bonds aren’t stable until adulthood’_.

He repeatedly has to hear about how no bond was the same, how most soul mates don’t meet until after their twenty’s, how the colors marked on his skin were proof that his bond was functional. But he wasn’t functional, whatever that meant. He wasn’t like the kids at school or his father’s friends. Unless their soul mate was dead, everyone he knew had both a mark _and_ someone behind it.

"Having a soul mate is very important to you isn't it?" she asks him once. At the time, he can’t help but stare at her incredulously. Every movie hero finds his soul mate in the end; the songs Fantine likes to sing along with are all about having a soul mate. Everybody in his year is claiming to be bonded to a celebrity or to someone from the year above them.

Enjolras isn’t dumb; soul mates are important to everyone.

The more she talks about it, the more he comes to realize that it isn’t some kind of mistake. He _could_ sense them, and now he can’t. As much as he tries to explain it to her and Fantine, and in one special occasion, his Father; they just don’t _get_ it.

They talk about his bond like it was a _thing_ , but it didn’t mean anything to Enjolras without the person behind it.

He might not have known their name or address, but his person was _his_. His copilot when racing down a hill in skates, giddiness bubbling over whenever Enjolras fell down and laughed himself silly. His partner in crime when sneaking cookies from the kitchen. The bond sang with excitement during rainstorms and quieted if there was too much thunder. They were always, always there when Enjolras missed his mother, a rush of warmth that felt better than anyone else’s hugs ever could.

All of it has gone away with no warning. They can’t be dead, he knows it. His soul mate left him and Enjolras can’t help but wonder if it’s his own fault. Maybe if he’d been nice or quiet. Maybe if he’d had more friends like Courfeyrac or was as sweet as Cosette, maybe then his soul mate wouldn’t have gotten sick of him. Maybe if he even knew how to be better, his mother wouldn’t have been ill and his father wouldn’t hate him.

Sessions with Madame Magloire are the worst.

 

*

**2005**

Growing older is both confusing and tragic. Every so often he’ll close his eyes and pray, sometimes to Fantine’s God, sometimes to his Mother, but no amount of wishing ever brings the feelings of his bond back.

He does other things too, the older he gets the more he can’t help but at least _try_. Courfeyrac’s mother tries teaching him some type of yoga that’s supposed to ‘open a path to his true essence’ or something; he and Fantine visit a new doctor at the end of each semester and he even let’s Cossette take him to talk to the nuns at her school. Most of all, he reads. Legends, science books, religious texts, anything that can explain and maybe, somehow fix it.

But each day that passes shows no sign of bringing the bond back. At night is when he’ll concentrate the hardest on trying to feel it once more. He sits on his bed and closes his eyes, pleading to his person to come back, just to turn irate the next morning when he gets no results. Eventually, he starts to check his mark constantly as a nervous habit. He’ll rub at his chest half afraid he’ll find burnt skin and half afraid that he won’t. At least he’d have a tangible answer if he did.

Disappointment becomes a sentiment he’s acquainted with too well after three years. Every so often he’ll catch Fantine speaking with someone on the phone about how angry he always seems, how he won’t talk to her, how he was still throwing things and yelling when he shouldn’t be. There’s nothing worse than hearing her sigh in disappointment.

By the time he hits fifteen all the kids at school know at least a half assed version of his story. Even the teachers think he has no mark at all and it gets harder to manage his reactions when suddenly all anyone cares about is talking about their own soul mates and whispering about him behind his back. 

People pity him for the most part, they shake their heads and say ‘oh it’s such a sad story’ as if he were dying and not standing unharmed right in front of them. No one says anything outright but most reactions are so exaggerated that it becomes an annoyance to even answer questions about himself, it’s like they’re hinting that he might as well lock himself in a basement and never come out. 

So he gets into fights.

Courfeyrac helps. Courfeyrac always helps. Whether he’s joining in a struggle alongside him or telling silly jokes whenever Enjolras grips something too hard, Courfeyrac is never far from his side. He talks to him about nothing in particular, whatever books he’s been reading or what he’d seen on TV the night before. Enjolras is more than happy to listen though he isn’t always good at saying things back.

It’s Courfeyrac who takes him to his first real party. To be honest, it’s not that Enjolras feels shunned or particularly mistreated at these things. It’s just that, for the most part, Enjolras hates social gatherings.

He could be on his father’s computer right now, checking the new webzine he found on bonds between family and their impact in society. Instead he’s been here for what seem like days, sitting in a well-worn couch in someone’s living room and sipping on something that tastes like warm soda mixed with expired grape juice. There’s a big group of people sitting on the floor in front of him, playing some sort of drinking game. His refusal to participate was met with a groan from Courfeyrac and a plea to get his “fun allergies” checked.

 Which, if you ask him is just absurd. It’s not that he’s against the notion of having fun, it’s that this game is pointless. He doesn’t want to sit around and talk about how many people he’s kissed (three, but maybe Courfeyrac doesn’t count?) or hear who Andy Boeman has or hasn’t had sex with. So of course he’s there the second they start talking about bonds.

“Okay, okay. Well, at least I’ve never flashed my soulmark at an innocent caterer.”

 “Oh my god, shut up!” Avery Marshall giggles, “I was drunk okay? I thought it was that model from the billboard on 5th street.”

“Oh please,” says one of her friends, “you are so obsessed with that guy, if he _was_ your soul mate he’d have is mark removed in seconds so you couldn’t stalk him.”

Avery is still incessantly giggling, “So what?  I’d still be his anyway.

“You know,” some upper classmen interrupts, “my cousin Pete told me there are these things you can do, to get rid of your bond entirely.”

“Oh please!” someone exclaims.

“No really! Like you can get these—“

“You can get a nerve block surgery,” says a snotty girl Enjolras recognizes from class, “my Mom’s a doctor and she says it’s for extreme life or death cases only; you could get permanent brain damage just from trying.”

“No,” the boy insists, “not that, he says there are like these pills that block the bond, they’re like crazy illegal—“

“No wonder!” says Avery, “Why’d you ever want to block your own soul mate for?”

He’s only half paying attention to the conversation, most of his focus is on the people who are ‘subtly’ looking him over now that the subject has come up. Though the stares make him feel self-conscious he glares back defiantly at those closest to the couch and they quickly turn back to their game.

“So Avery,” Courfeyrac smirks, “what did you end up doing with that waiter?”

The girl once again bursts into giggles as Enjolras shoots his best friend a grateful look. When they are all once again distracted by their game he takes the opportunity to quickly slip out of the house unnoticed.

He’s walking down the street where everyone parked their cars, contemplating how mad Fantine would be if he paid a cab to take the hour long drive into the city when he hears the palpable clamor of feet running against the pavement.

“Enjolras wait!”

He sighs in apprehension at the sound of Courfeyrac’s voice. He’d hoped not to disrupt his night.

“Were you leaving without me?” he pants just as he reaches Enjolras’ side.

“I thought you would like to stay for a bit more. It’s barely eleven.”

His friend nudges their hips together and smiles as they continue down the road. There are cars parked alongside them and street lights illuminating their path, making the lonely street seem less intimidating.

“Nah, I’m good. You know despite that Avery chick and your aversion to drinking games, I think that went pretty okay. We rode with upper classmen, you talked, you drank, and I even think I saw you dancing to a Britney song! Don’t you crush my dreams and deny it!”

Enjolras snorts, finding it best to ignore the accusation. “What about your night? And that girl, Malaya?” he places his hands into his jean pockets while they walk, silently contemplating why the other boy hasn’t gone back. “Wasn’t this, and I quote, ‘the day she realizes her undying love’ for you?”

“Alas, it was not meant to be tonight.”

“You should go back,” he gestures towards the cabin, not far behind them.

“And what?” Courfeyrac huffs, “leave you here alone in the dark to brood on your own?”

“You don’t have to stay with me, Courf,” he tells him gently. They’ve known each other long enough for him to understand the double meaning. Courfeyrac is so full of life and outgoing and he’s missing out on so much by just being around Enjolras. He’s tried to not bring things down with his bouts of anger or his reserved personality but it’s who he is, and at the end of the day he’s quite okay with it. Still, he figures Courfeyrac shouldn’t be stuck with him just because they shared a juice pouch in nursery school. “I understand if you want to be around other people.”

But his friend just glares at him with a pinched expression before punching him hard on the shoulder.

“Ouch! Courfeyrac!”

He crosses his hands over his chest and doesn’t even look a little bit sorry. “You sir, are an idiot.” He looks hurt just at the suggestion that a party could possibly be more important than Enjolras. It makes his chest feel tight.

“You can’t get rid of me you little shit,” he’s smiling but there’s a twinkle to his eyes that means he’s not joking around.

“You mean can’t get rid of you that easy.” Enjolras grins back.

“No,” his smile drops and his face goes completely serious. “I mean you can’t get rid of me ever. And I’m not getting rid of you so we might as well not even talk about how stupid you are and just find a ride home.”

Enjolras feels the tension from his body release. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that. He sort of wants to hug his friend but really doesn’t know how to go about it, so he squeezes the other’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Courf.”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes and drags him by the hand into a throttling bear hug. There’s even a bit of lifting into the air. With a strangled laugh Enjolras shoves himself off and grumbles, pretending to be put off as his face warms. He can tell Courfeyrac doesn’t really buy it by the amused shine in his eyes.

“Hey, did you hear Andy’s saying he had sex with a college girl in his parent’s mini cooper?” he scrunches his nose, “that hardly sounds plausible.”

“What would you know?”

“Rude,” he says but then instantly grins. Enjolras briefly wonders if he’ll retaliate right when Courf shoves him out of the path and into a patch of grass, trying to wrestle him down. The quick movement has Enjolras landing on his behind, making him throw his head back and laugh with glee.

In a couple of hours someone will come out and offer them a ride but for the moment, with his best friend trying to tickle him to death, he’s okay right where he is.

 

*

 

Things are good with Courfeyrac but as for other close friends, well … all of his arguing eventually gets him labeled as a troublemaker in school and most other people start to avoid him. Enjolras doesn’t understand why everyone is so caught up on things that don’t matter at all.

Writing becomes his refuge during school hours. It keeps him focused on what he wants while distracting him from other things. He hasn’t really got the words for keeping a journal about feelings like his new therapist, Dr. Myriel, suggested; so his notebook turns into a log focused on his opinions. Courfeyrac reads every entry and even writes down his own notes on the margins.

(He does use it to write his soul mate letter sometimes, these ridiculous and sappy things about his life and asking where they are. It’s ridiculous and embarrassing so he tears them up. Courfeyrac is constantly asking him where the missing pages have gone.)

He submits a piece or two on school policies to the school newspaper. He writes a short exposé on the lives of students who had found their soul mate in their school (there were only three couples—including Mr. Forman and one of the sophomores) and it ends up getting him a regular place there. But it’s the piece on teen harassment that gets opted by their local paper for its ‘fervent delivery’. Maybe because if there is one thing Enjolras hates above all others, it was bullying.  Somehow (it’s Courfeyrac’s fault) he ends up in the debate team as well.

Of course, he almost ends up getting kicked out because of his intense way of — well, debating — but Dr. Myriel insists he do all he could to stay on the team as part of his therapy, Fantine as well, and there was no way he was going to let all three of them down. Even if his teammates were just plain _wrong_ about everything.

 

*

**2006**

His seventeenth birthday falls on a Tuesday, and he celebrates by punching some jerk in the nose for calling a soul-less freak. When he gets out of the principal’s office, it’s not Fantine who greets him there, it’s Valjean.

He glances around, head turning as if an answer to why the man is there is going to appear next to him. “Monsieur Valjean?”

Valjean looks up and spots him. He offers a hesitant smile before standing from his chair.

“Hello, Enjolras. Still getting into trouble?”

He’s a rather large man; his shoulders give the impression of being as wide as Enjolras is tall. Jean Valjean is Cosette’s father, not his, they only share their mother. He’s seen Valjean maybe a total of five times in his entire life. Father paid for Cosette to go to a private school ever since Mothers’ death, and sometimes Valjean will drop her off for a long visit during the summers.

There was something about Valjean that quietly demanded your respect, though the little quirk at the corner of his mouth made Enjolras relax a little. Cossette was always going on about how agreeable her Papa was, despite what his appearance might imply.

“Where’s Fantine?” he asks instead of answering Valjean’s question. Of course he’s still getting into trouble. Why else would an adult have been called if he weren’t?

He knows he’s gotten better since he spends every Tuesdays with Dr. Myriel. Their sessions are never about his mark. They talk school and friends, about Fantine and how upset she gets when he shouts. They talk a lot about the difference between feeling something and doing something.

_“Next time you’re really angry,_ _slow down and take a deep breath. Think about what you want to do,” the doctor tells him. “You can’t help how you feel but you can help how you act.”_

He’d like to think that the decision to punch out that idiot was thought-out and reasonable but his elevated feeling of achievement over the boys’ injustice is blown to pieces by Valjean’s answer. 

“She said something about a birthday surprise when I left.”

And didn’t that make him feel like a complete asshole. If Valjean was there it meant that Fantine had even arranged for Cossette to come and spend his birthday with them. And here he was almost getting suspended for the third time. God, he feels like such a jerk sometimes.

Valjean must have seen something in his face because next thing he knew he was right in front of him, squeezing his shoulder and leading the way towards the school parking lot.

There’s a flyer on the dash of Valjean’s car; on one side the logo shows a cartoonish man with a big belly and an exaggerated mustache, holding a cone with two big pink balls on top. He’s been to that place before, one, no— two weeks ago, when Courfeyrac had wanted to celebrate a school day of no homework (“What about that essay for social sciences? Or the reading for Lit?” ”Shut up, Enjolras”) they’d tried so many flavors that afterwards he’d been too full to eat any dinner.

The drive is mostly silent, interrupted only by Valjean asking about his volunteer job at the soup kitchen and their petition to lower expenses in the cafeteria lunch menu, which is technically not so much a petition as it is a walkout but he doesn’t mention that, lest it get back to Fantine.

 They arrive at the manor and go in through the kitchen door, an occurrence that quickly explains itself when he sees the array of tarts and sweets all laid out on the kitchen table. Fantine smiles at him from behind the counter where she’s rolling dough in her hands, he can’t help but grimace back, not from displeasure but from guilt.

“Come here,” she beckons with her flour stained fingers.

“I’m sorry, Fantine,” he says once he’s close enough. “I know it was thoughtless of me.”

Her fingers shift through his hair as she leads him into a hug across the counter from each other, “Tomorrow you are grounded but today we celebrate the amazing young man that you are.” With a kiss to his check she tells him, “Happy birthday, my angel.”

He feels better already at her small reassurance and vows to keep apologizing tomorrow. Without another word she takes something from the pocket of her cooking apron and gives it to him. It’s a plain white envelope, sealed tightly. “My present?” he asks with a smile.

 Fantine shakes her head, “Results.”

He examines it carefully before putting it in his own back pocket.

That’s when Courfeyrac appears at the kitchen door and practically tackles him from behind. “The birthday boy is here!” he shouts. He’s holding Enjolras by the side trapping both his arms before he can raise them.

“You saw me in school and sang the happy birthday song twice already.” It was endearing but also rather embarrassing, Courfeyrac really goes all out when he’s singing.

“So?” he shrugs, “it’s still your birthday.”

“Let him breathe Courfeyrac,” Fantine laughs from her corner. Valjean is already at the table poking at the sweets.

“Alright,” his friend does as he’s told with a sigh and moves towards the counter to try some of the pastries. Maybe he should’ve mentioned Fantine has a strict ‘no tasting’ rule. Each time he reaches for one she smacks his hand away with her ladle.

“Enjolras,” Valjean joins them near the counter, holding something rapped in red paper. “I have something for you from Cossette.” 

“Oh?” Enjolras squirms in his seat, already guessing where this is going. “She’s not here then?”

Valjean smiles sadly and hands him the gift, “She couldn’t make it right now. There’s a letter in there as well.”

He unwraps it, careful not to tear the paper, and finds an encyclopedia with the words **Soul bonds through the Ages** etched in silver. He huffs out a laugh but it sounds shaky to his own ears. Enjolras thanks Valjean and excuses himself to go put it away in his room. He almost forgets about the promise of a letter until he reaches his bed and places the blank envelope Fantine gave him on it. Opening the book he finds Cosette’s letter stuck to the cover and quickly sits down to read it.

That’s how Courfeyrac finds him some time later, clutching the paper tightly as he reads it once more hoping it’ll make sense.“A letter? What’s next messenger pigeons?” he says with a smile that melts off his face when he sees Enjolras isn’t reacting. “What happened?”

“She’s leaving,” he answers, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. A sudden coldness has hits him right at the core, leaving him numb.

“Leaving school?”

_Leaving me,_ is what he wants to say. But in its place he shoves the letter towards Courfeyrac and then takes his burgundy covers and throws himself under them, hiding his face in the soft lines of his bed 

“It says her soul mate has a great opportunity in America and she’s sorry but you won’t be able to stay with her in Paris next year, ” his voice is muffled but Enjolras hears him clearly. He also feels it when his friend cuddles him from behind, wrapping his arms around him while he’s still cocooned inside the comforter.

“That’s insane,” says the muffled voice, “You’ve been planning to share an apartment for ages, she just met this guy a couple of months ago! _You_ haven’t even met him yet!”

“I did,” he says. The heat and narrow space are starting to make him uncomfortable as his heart speeds up. Cossette and Marius’s mark gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘heart on your sleeve’. They both have a piece of pink and green swirls running down their left arm and shaping into an oval like frame, just after the elbow. It’s perfect for them and they’re disgustingly perfect for each other.

He finds himself less bitter at the fact that they get a clear cut happy ending and more at the fact that the entire phenomenon of a soul mate has taken over his sister, to the point where she left her home and family for a man she barely knew, and even her own Father just smiles cheerfully as if it made perfect sense.

“Oh, well did you like him?”

 “He spilled wine on my shirt and told me to ‘buck up’ about my soul mate because most people don’t find their bonds until college.”

He’d rolled his eyes at the usual line then, but now he wishes he could shout at him, tell him about how there isn’t someone out there for Enjolras to just _find_ , not without a bond. Marius wouldn’t get it though, because Marius has Cosette, and Courfeyrac will have whoever’s imprinted in the palm of his hand, and Enjolras has no one. His soul mate, they have someone else, or maybe no one, or they probably aren’t even alive. It doesn’t matter, Enjolras will never know.

He isn’t going to be like Marius and Cossette.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac calls softly. He rubs at Enjolras’ back and it makes him grateful for the small comfort. Courfeyrac then tries to disengage the cloth from over his face but he stubbornly holds on to it with both hands.

“Come on Enjolras, just because she’s moving away it doesn’t mean you’ll never see her again. She’s not leaving you.”

“Yes she is!” he yells in exasperation as he swings the comforter off of himself and sits up, quickly feeling lightheaded. “She’s leaving, Fantine’s quitting one day and once you find them you’ll leave too, everyone fucking leaves me.”

The silence is deafening as they stare at one another. Enjolras chest is tight and when he tries to get some air he starts breathing loudly and fast. He feels like an idiot an idiot for saying all that out loud, half expecting Courfeyrac to mock him for being so dramatic.

But he just looks a bit broken, open-mouthed and eyes wide. Courfeyrac’s hands come up slowly and settle around him in a bone crushing hug. He realizes he’s crying when he feels a wet spot from where he’s leaning his head against Courfeyrac’s shoulder. His friend whispers non-sense in his ear as he rubs his hand up and down Enjolras’ back.

“I’ve been naïve,” he explains once he’s able to calm down, “I’ve read so many cases and stories about how it just doesn’t happen, despite the mark or the bond but I—” he sniffs as Courfeyrac pulls back, “they were so _present_ and the mark never darkened and, fuck I don’t even care about the whole magical true love bullshit I just wanted to _know_ what happened to them, if it was me or if it… it doesn’t even matter though, does it?”

He pulls back as well, whipping his eyes as they kneel on the bed. When he looks down there’s something in front of him, under Courfeyrac’s knee. He pokes around him to get it and pulls out the white envelope from under him.

“What’s that?” Courfeyrac asks, voice horse.

“Tests results,” he says softly. As usual he’d gone to a new doctor to see if there were any new developments with his mark or his bond. He somehow gathers up the courage to open it, resigned to accepting this as his final answer. No more hoping for answers he’ll never get. He unfolds the paper and goes directly where he knows he must look, at the bottom of the page it says _inconclusive_ in bold, clear letters. For a second Enjolras goes stiff and then he falls against Courfeyrac, shaking all over. He finally just breaks down and cries.

He cries until the world is spinning and his heart is aching, until he’s leaning against Courfeyrac gulping for air. Enjolras weeps for hours upon hours that day until the tears finally stop.

And then he never cries about it again.

*

**2010**

Enjolras moves to Paris and finds his calling; not the major in political science or the journalism credits; not the Youth & Volunteer Center program he signs up for.

It’s Feuilly.

Or more precisely, it comes together thanks to Feuilly.

They meet during Enjolras’ first year of University. Feuilly works at the student center and, as it turns out, he’s just as interested in advocacy for social change. All he has to say is “I was thinking of gathering some people, maybe? I mean there are no support clubs or anything and that’d be good to start, at least casually at first. You seem like a guy who likes to start things,” for Enjolras to book a place and start recruiting for a social equality club on campus.

Feuilly brings Bahorel, a classmate of Enjolras’ from freshman year. Enjolras brings Courfeyrac and Jehan, one of their more enthusiastic dorm mates. Joly and Bossuet turn up out of nowhere one day, cheerfully smiling at them at the end of the table. That’s how they start Les Amis.

With them Enjolras doesn’t feel so alone anymore. There are people now, who want to do things, and help and talk about real issues. People who aren’t afraid to sacrifice time and energy for a worthy cause. What makes it even better is that most of them approached the group because of their topics on the inequality of the soul bonds system.

Suddenly his world isn’t composed of soul mates but of people. Feuilly and Bahorel share the same mark but their bond is completely platonic. Jehan is un-marked and cheerfully tells new comers he’s aromantic and has no interest in one at all. Joly and Bousset have a three way bond with a women named Musichetta, and Éponine, who shows up one day to scoff at them and then makes it her monthly ritual, has known her soul mate for years, choosing to have no contact.

Enjolras is thrilled at the chance to work on un- paired marriage rights and subjugating the picket fenced bonded norm with people who get it. Finally having this group in his life not only  means moving beyond banalities and small causes to face a real system of injustice but also having tangible evidence that you can have love beyond your soul mate, and you can have a soul mate and not love them at all.

Every so often it will still sneak up on him, the unfairness and the doubt. How truly unaware he is about something so fundamentally his, his history, his mark. Some days it overwhelms him entirely, the adamant urge to grab a bristly cloth and scrub away at his skin until it fades and all that’s left is blood. But he doesn’t, because Feuilly will smile at him proudly after each meeting or Courfeyrac will call with plans for the next petition, and because he doesn’t need to live doubting himself. Not anymore.

It also means he has a large group of people he calls friends.

Since they’re working on being officially affiliated to the University, the group grows continually with people coming and going after each meeting, but those initial seven become the core of their association.

Well, them and Grantaire.

During Les Amis’ first year Joly brings Grantaire to one of their meetings. Though there’s a lot of snickering coming from his corner he stays until the very end that day and comes back for a second meeting, then a third and so on.

Enjolras is glad he keeps coming back. He is, on occasion, a good addition to their group. When Grantaire actually wants to give them his opinion it’s clear how very smart and well read he is, and he knows a lot more about the campus and it’s regulations than anyone else. He boxes with Bahorel and sighs dramatically with Jehan, even Joly and Bousset are more participative with him there. He’s charismatic, funny and… completely infuriating.

 All he ever does is disagree with Enjolras and get in his face about the most ridiculous things. His arguing helps Enjolras when preparing for a speech or a request to the University, it’s true, but he wishes that all he heard directed towards him from Grantaire weren’t pessimistic comments and discouraging statistics.

Enjolras knows that Grantaire thinks they are all too naïve when it comes to social justice and he says so at every chance. His jaw clenches every time Grantaire opens his mouth.

He looks at Enjolras.  All of the time. He’ll be talking up front at the group meetings and Grantaire won’t be just listening like the others, he’ll regard Enjolras like he’s about to be graded on the lines of Enjolras’ face. Then there are Glances, brief but no less intense, sent his way when R thinks he isn’t looking— they send warmth all through his body. And when he’s leaving the Musain, usually when Enjolras is still cleaning up – he does this thing where he nods goodbye and smiles. He’s distracting, is the thing. He’s quick thinking and annoying. Everyone loves him and Enjolras’ life would be much easier if Grantaire weren’t so difficult.

Or so captivating.

 

*

 

The sky is darkening by the time he enters the municipal library. His shoulders ache, his nose is freezing, and the soles of his shoes are still wet from the rain outside. Final exams pity no man. He’s in his second year already so things were bound to get even more demanding. Squaring his shoulders, Enjolras takes a deep breath and lets it out just as quickly.

It’s the first time since living in the city that he’s even been to this building, so he takes a moment to scan the room for the best studying spot. The first floor is filled with lofty bookcases and big long tables. They’re occupied almost entirely with dreadfully over caffeinated students, if the twitching and hair pulling is anything to go by. A set of stairs lead him one level up where he finds a corner table with minimal noise and a decent stream of artificial light. Settling in only takes a moment, and then Enjolras is swept into his comparative politics textbook for the next hour. 

He’s drawn out of his books only by his stomach grumbling, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten anything more than a sandwich at lunch time. There’s no use in leaving now, not when they’re about to close in a couple of hours, so he resolves to dig in deeper into his seat and goes to take out a different book from his shoulder bag.

When he straightens back into his seat there’s someone sitting across from him. Enjolras startles, blinking fast on reflex before he realizes its Grantaire smirking back.

“Was that really necessary?” says Enjolras, decisively not amused. 

He lifts his eyebrows and chuckles loudly, “Sorry, I saw you sitting here and I couldn’t help it.”

He has a very pleasant smile, Enjolras concludes, and the curve of his nose is actually pretty adorable. Enjolras has known Grantaire for six months already and not once has he spotted him without a sweater or a fitted hoodie covering him. Today is no exception since he’s wearing an olive colored sweatshirt fastened to his chest.

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the textbook on the table. “Were you lurking around here waiting to scare someone?”

“Nah, I work here.” he says, gesturing to his right. There’s a research information desk just a few feet away from them. The counter is circular and pretty high up, no wonder he hadn’t noticed Grantaire was there.

“Really?” he drawls, “Do they pay you to annoy people?”

“Only on the weekends.” Grantaire scratches under his chin, his smoothed nails scratching over his scruffy chin. “I’m kind of taking my break to study, is it okay if I just stay here?”

“Oh, um. Sure, go ahead,” he says quickly.

“Thanks,” Grantaire flashes a grin at Enjolras. He is so in over his head on this. Enjolras is uncharacteristically nervous around Grantaire on most days and it gets even worse the more Grantaire beams directly at him.

Grantaire glances to his sides checking for something before reaching into his pocket. “Hungry?” he opens his hands to show a bag of strawberry flavored gummy candy, releasing their sweet scent of artificial sugar. He doesn’t know what kind of face he pulls but it must seem eager because Grantaire laughs loudly before reaching for his hand to pour some on it. The moment their hands touch Enjolras’ skin heats up and he fidgets, bouncing his knee under the table.

Putting the candy in his mouth, he closes his eyes while he savors it. The sharp fruity taste rolls around in his on his tongue and he lets out a small noise at the sensation. When he opens his eyes Grantaire’s staring at him with his lips parted, the look in his eyes sends a shiver of pleasure through Enjolras.  

Grantaire clears his throat and they both look away. He tries concentrating on his book for a few minutes but ends up staring down at the table, telling himself not to look up again. His resolve doesn’t last long and he ends up gawking raptly at Grantaire’s hands. His really nice hands. With his right one he’s making some sort of intricate movement with a pencil on a sketchbook, it’s mesmerizing.

His other hand pauses over a thick, opened paged book. “What’s that?”

Grantaire’s deep-set eyes look up at him, startled. “What?”

Enjolras motions towards the book in between them.

“Oh,” his eyes drop back to the book as he turns it over to show Enjolras. “I’m using this as a reference for when I have to start on mine.”

The page shows a glass figurine with a woman’s silhouette, in the picture it tilts to the side giving the impression of being in motion.

“You sculpt too?” He asks, impressed.

He raises his shoulders, appearing nonchalant. “I’m trying it as my final project for class.”

“Oh, so you’ll be doing that?” he points to the picture. Enjolras doesn’t know anything about art or sculpting but the bend of that figure doesn’t seem easy to achieve. Without thinking his eyes wander again towards Grantaire’s hands.

“Um, no that’s kind of complex. There’s this technique to it, I’ve kind of been practicing but— I’m not going to get it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Enjolras

“Yeah,” he agrees quickly. “I’ll maybe just end up quitting the class.”

Enjolras blinks at him. “What? Why? Did you think I was calling you ridiculous?” He furrows his brow, eyes not leaving Grantaire’s. “I don’t think what you do is silly, if anything you’re too talented for your own good.”

Grantaire scraps a hand through his hair, eyeing Enjolras warily. Has he done something wrong? Is it inappropriate to be asking so many questions? He and Grantaire usually never saw each other, outside of meetings. And when they did it was never alone which Enjolras was half thankful for. He tends to say things that made Grantaire’s face go pinched and tense, like now.

“Uh, okay. Then what’s ridiculous?”

"You saying you can’t do it. Feuilly says you’re amazing, you know. I don’t know anything about art, obviously, but I’m guessing if anyone can do something like that, it’s you. Just stick to it until you get it right."

Grantaire huffs a soft, unkind laugh. “Feuilly is biased, he’s too polite to say anything else and ever since I introduced him to that girl from Spain he thinks he has to be extra nice to me. Trust me, I’m not that good.”

Enjolras just shakes his head. Feuilly once called out his own boss on his terrible craftsmanship, when he definitely couldn’t afford to get fired. He wouldn’t lie about Grantaire’s talent just to be nice. Is he really so insecure? It’s a hard thought to process because Grantaire is clearly good at everything he does. Doesn’t he know that?

Enjolras grunts in exasperation. “Are you always so self-deprecating?”

“Just when it’s true.”

Enjolras has some choice words about that assumption but Grantaire’s hands close the large book with finality and he barrels on, “I’ve never seen you at this place before. Let me guess, you’re faculty library was taken over by finals week?”

 “Yes,” Enjolras replies after a moment of hesitation, “Yesterday it was so crowded I tripped over several people just trying to get out the door, and I can’t study at home so I thought I’d try something new. Since when do you work here?”

“Since always,” he says casually. How had he missed that? He feels a small twinge in his chest at the thought that he might not know much about Grantaire at all.

“Why can’t you study at home?” Grantaire asks as he twirls his drawing pencil in his hand.

“Oh well…” How exactly does one explain the lovable typhoon that is his roommate? “Courfeyrac, he has some weird habits. I’m used to it, but it gets kind of distracting during finals.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows rise up into his hairline. “No wait, now you have to tell me. What kind of weird habits? Like annoying habits? Is he a passive aggressive note leaver?”

Enjolras frowns in confusion.  “What’s wrong with leaving notes?”

Grantaire snorts and tries to cover up his laugh by putting his hand over his mouth.

He’s being distracting again. Enjolras could call him out on it but what would he say? Stop it, you’re being too cute? He fights the urge to laugh with him and glares halfheartedly instead.

“Well if it’s not that what is it?”

Enjolras sighs. “He likes to sing out loud while he studies.”

“Sing?” Grantaire asks incredulously.

“Yes. Mostly show tunes. When he’s frustrated with something or has a break through he’ll burst into song.”

Grantaire is laughing now. “Are you serious?”

“He was singing ‘ _I could have danced all night’_ when I left this morning.”

Grantaire looks bemused for a moment then he throws his head back and laughs. It’s really nice.

Enjolras is truly impressed with his own progress over the next hour. Not on studying, he barely gets anything done on that front because he somehow finds himself gladly caught up in a long conversation with Grantaire. He learns that Grantaire can make vegetarian lasagna and has an obscenely large collection of books and novels. He rants to Enjolras about the Antigonid dynasty for a while. Grantaire understands the concepts in Enjolras’ syllabus and helps him by going over some of them. He even mentions Les Amis once or twice, grinning broadly around their friends names whenever they come up. Best of all their only argument is whether the soda in the vending machines is better in lime or orange.

They go on like that until someone calls for Grantaire at the help desk.

 “Oh, great,” he says, sounding noticeably less-than-thrilled. “I guess I took a little too much time.” The way he grins mischievously makes Enjolras want to extend the conversation even further, but they both need to get to work.

“This was nice,” he says instead of goodbye and Grantaire heads back without another word, almost tripping over something on the carpet floor. Enjolras is left wondering what Grantaire’s final project will look like, and thinking of the shine in his eyes when Enjolras told him all he could really make in the kitchen are triple-chocolate brownies. It leaves him confused and more than a bit unfocused.

 

*

Someone drops their arm around his back and lays their head on his shoulder.

 “Oh young love,” Courfeyrac sighs.

There’s no telling what he’s on about now.  Enjolras takes two pieces of paper from the table and holds them up high in each hand. “Do you think we need bigger posters?”

“Excuse you,” Courfeyrac huffs. “We are not talking about sizes right now. Unless you want to talk about the size of Grantaire’s—”

His hand flies to Courfeyrac’s mouth while his eyes dart around the room. Thankfully the only other person in the backroom of the Musain is Jehan, sipping his cup of tea and looking inconspicuous. Enjolras narrows his eyes in suspicion, Jehan is never inconspicuous. He doesn’t react save for a slight twitch of his lips.

“What are you on about?” he says turning back to Courfeyrac.

He smiles so broadly even his gums are showing.  “I am talking about your humongous crush on Grantaire.”

Enjolras jerks back in surprise which just serves to bring him closer to Courfeyrac who’s still hugging him from behind. He shrugs his friend off and turns back towards the table filled with fliers in different designs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on Enjolras, the stolen glances? The flirty smiles? It’s almost like I’m reliving second grade through you."

“I do not have a crush on Grantaire.” He doesn’t, honestly. Yes he’s attracted to the other man but Enjolras doesn’t do crushes, no matter what Courfeyrac says. And if he sometimes zones out watching the way Grantaire’s muscles move under his shirt, or the way he bites his lips when he’s nervous, or his hands, well that’s nobody’s business but his own. At most he has a healthy respect for the other man based on his first-rate attributes and the way he treats his friends. He could say the same about all of the Amis. It’s not like he wants to date Grantaire.

“Who wants to hump Grantaire?”

Bahorel storms in through the door with a loud bang, his cheery laugh echoes across the room.

“Who doesn’t?” says Jehan. Courfeyrac shares a look with Jehan who swiftly grabs Bahorel and drags him out of the room. “We’re getting more tea!” he calls before closing the door.

 “I don’t have a crush on Grantaire,” he repeats once they’re left alone in the room.

“Just last week he eviscerated your argument on body shamming, and you didn’t punch him in the face. How is this not a crush?”

He chooses not to dignify that with a response and starts shuffling together all the papers left on the table, trying not to sneak in any worried glances at the door.

Courf grabs his hands away, startling him into dropping a stack on to the floor. He guides Enjolras to sit in the chair next to his. 

“I know you really, really like him. So why don’t we save some time here and you can just tell me what it is you’re so afraid of?”

Pausing, he puts his hands on his lap and leans against the back of the chair, thinking of what to say. “He doesn’t even talk about his soul mate, okay?”  Enjolras murmurs. It might be a useless thing to worry about but he can’t help it. 

“So what?” Courfeyrac asks just as softly. “I don’t talk about Margaux during meetings. You don’t talk about them either.”

“Yes but— I don’t even know if he likes me, you know, enough.”

They stare at each other in mutual understanding. He’s seen it happen time and time again, to Courfeyrac even. People saying goodbye to each other once they have a chance with their soul mate, like it never even really mattered. He’s seen his friend’s heartbreak countless times and he’s not sure he can have something like that happen to him, not with Grantaire.

 “Like you-Enjolras, you are not this dense,” he says crossing his arms in exasperation.

“What?” He’s not an idiot, he knows Grantaire is at least attracted to him. The constant staring has been an indicator for a while now. But they’re talking about more than attraction here.

“You’re advocating for all these things and ideas but not applying them to your life. Keeping people at bay like this isn’t doing you any good. You have to relax and trust other people to know what they want. ” Courfeyrac threads his fingers through Enjolras’ hair in an attempt to tame it as Enjolras lets his words sink in.

“All you can do is start a conversation,” he carries on, fixing Enjolras’ tie as he speaks, “since I know you really like him why don’t you stop over thinking things and just try to getting to know him more?”

Once he realizes Courfeyrac’s gone into grooming mode Enjolras bats his hands away and moves to put the chairs back in place. “Don’t give me that look, I can’t just ask him out!”

“When I come home with a big ass hangover tomorrow, please remember this conversation,” Courfeyrac says sounding frustrated.

“We’re back!” Jehan announces. Enjolras stays quiet as most of the others start to trickle in and the meeting begins.

“First order of business,” Courfeyrac shows them all his laptop where the Les Amis blog is open on the screen. “We need to step up our game online. That’s why I’m proud to present to you our new feature column, ‘The Equality Chief’ obviously ran by our very own big kahuna.”

“Were not calling it that,” Enjolras protests but Courfeyrac just winks at him.

They make good progress in every other topic of the day and unanimously pick out a design for the fliers to promote their next protest. It’s one of their most relaxed meetings yet until Grantaire comes in. Enjolras is briefly sidetracked by the way the rain has caused his wet dark curls to stick to the side of his face. His hand is itching to move aside the strands blocking his forehead when Courfeyrac snorts loudly beside him.

He fidgets in embarrassment as he goes back to explaining where their next demonstration will take place. The University denied the Social Justice Club the right to be part of the student union or use university resources, like classrooms, for their meetings. Their latest plan is to stage a sit in inside the Committee’s office building. Grantaire hasn’t even had time to sit down before he’s expressing his disapproval. Not even five minutes in the room and they’re already arguing in each other’s face.

“We’ve fulfilled every request,” Enjolras states, “We have the paperwork all properly signed and the support of the students. Hell, we’ve been campaigning for this all year!”

Around him the others nod in agreement but Grantaire shakes his fervently head. “A protest isn’t going to make them change their minds anymore than the dozens of times you’ve camped out of their offices.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I know the administration is out to bar the political student organizations especially with the law for un-paired living standards up for approval. And I know this club doesn’t need to be associated with the University!”

Enjolras can feel the back of his neck tensing at his words. He can’t believe he’s hearing this. “We have every right to be affiliated to the University! We can’t just stand back and let them take away our right to form the organizations of our choice, especially when this is place meant to encourage equality and give people a voice.”

His voice rises as he draws the stare of the others from around the room. “We will oppose this bureaucratic censorship and we will demand our basic democratic rights!”

Joly and Jehan cheer in their seats while Feuilly whistles.

He takes a steady breath and tells Grantaire in a controlled tone. “So yes, there will be a protest.”

Grantaire is distressed still, his eyes are wide and he’s griping his mouth tightly.

“Fine, have your protest. But don’t occupy a campus building for it,” his brow wrinkles and he gazes pleadingly through his hard eyes at Enjolras. “You’re going to get yourselves expelled.”

Grantaire is worried about them. About him. It makes him want to reach out and touch him, just to reassure him that they’ll be alright.

 “That’s why you’re really arguing isn’t it? You’re afraid that one of us will get hurt.”

Grantaire huffs and stands away moving back to his chair but he doesn’t deny it. Enjolras firmly ignores the swelling in his chest.

“Enjolras I have something to say,” Courfeyrac stands slowly from his seat, face serious.

“Yes please, someone snap some sense into him,” says Grantaire.

“Oh no man,” Courfeyrac grins back. “How else are we going to get them to listen? Let’s do this!”

“Hell yeah!” Bahorel yells out.

“Ugh,” Grantaire responds. “Come on guys!”

“You have to be willing to take a chance if you want to change the rules,” says Courf. Joly and Bousset both glance apologetically towards Grantaire and nod their agreement. Jehan’s still sipping his tea with a smile, “But maybe we can do with less candles?”

Grantaire holds up his hands in defeat.

“You’re all a bunch of stubborn idiots.” Grantaire surveys him from his chair and Enjolras boldly stares back. He lets himself want Grantaire, even for a moment though he really shouldn’t. Even if Grantaire wants him back, in months of knowing each other they’d only been able to have a handful of civil conversations. 

 “That’s your secret superpower isn’t it?” he addresses Enjolras, “Just be stubborn at things until they work out? Do it again and again until it either works or you get burned?”

 “You have to fight for things to happen,” he explains, remembering their conversation at the library. “If people can come together and put forth a great deal of effort towards something that they believe in, they can achieve anything eventually.”

 “You’re crazy if you think you can change the world just by obstinately thinking the entirety of humankind holds themselves to your standards of perfectionism and idealism.” Grantaire scoffs —dismissing their cause, as usual —and something unknown tugs at Enjolras from the pit of his stomach.

 “So you don’t think we can accomplish anything?”

“What? Like a couple of signatures is going to get Jehan a better job?”

Enjolras feels like he’s been shot. “Inactivity certainly won’t. Don’t you care about this enough to try? Or about anything?” He grits his teeth in frustration at the other man’s words. Everyone else is silently watching them once more.

Grantaire lifts his chin, nostrils flaring in anger. “Society isn’t going to welcome us for being different, it isn’t going to stop thinking that losing a soul mate equals ‘losing value’, and you can’t stop people from trying to shame Courfeyrac or judge Feuilly. Protests, and information tables and whatever, what’s the fucking point?” 

Grantaire immediately appears apologetic and a bit shocked, but before he can say anything else Enjolras motions him to stop. He cannot stand when someone uses the excuse that things are too hard to make an effort to change them. He’d thought it couldn’t possibly be more than some sort of defense for Grantaire, but maybe he was wrong. Enjolras tries to ignore the pang of hurt that stabs sharply through him. It’s unfair of him to expect Grantaire to believe in their cause now when he never hid his doubts before, but he’d hoped— 

He disregards the biting retort on the tip of his tongue but he cannot swallow the bitter disappointment at finding that Grantaire isn’t on his side at all.

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong about a lot of things but you’re really wrong about this. If you don’t believe in what we’re doing than maybe you shouldn’t come to this rally at all! In fact, maybe you should just leave now,” he says callously.

Grantaire blinks but quickly obliges, turning away after muttering a brief “Sorry”. Enjolras rubs his fingers through his hair and hates himself for ever hoping for anything.

*

It all comes to head the next Tuesday.

Enjolras is there until the last second. The beat of the people chanting is heavy, their voices echoing through the quad. They have a great turn out for the sit in, even more than expected. Enjolras thrives on the feeling of so many people coming together for the same cause.

It gets rough pretty quickly. The police arrive early on and their presence escalates the situation; people are being pushed around and some threatened by their regulation sticks. It’s intense but they handle it, largely thanks to Bahorel and Jehan (who is ten times more terrifying then Enjolras thought).

Hours later, they’re half tending to wounds at the Musain and half celebrating that they got the word out there, while simultaneously avoiding anyone’s arrest or expulsion (so far at least). He’s congratulating all of them one by one for their efforts but when he thanks Courfeyrac for arranging so many more people than imagined he gives Enjolras a blank look and tilts his head.

“Well, it’s really all thanks to R I’d say,” he glances around as if looking for someone, “Where is he anyway?”

“Grantaire?” Enjolras says, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“It was his version of the flyers that got most people there,” Jehan says excitedly. “Plus he managed to get the word out with some people he knows at the radio station.” He takes one of the fliers out of his back pocket and hands it to Enjolras. It says all of the same things as the one they’d decided on beforehand, but this one has black and white figures intertwined with sharp red cartoon people with different protests signs. It’s a lot better than what they planned to use.

“But, he wasn’t even there…” and he didn’t want this to happen, why would he bother?

Bahorel raises an eyebrow at him. “No man, we came in together. He was there with us up until the cops came to get people out of the way.”

“Yeah he was with me at the last drop offs,” says Joly who’d volunteered to help some of the other picketers get home safely. “He wouldn’t leave until I did.”

“Looks like you were wrong about him not caring about anything,” Jehan says pointedly at Enjolras.

“Grantaire’s entire problem is that he cares too much.” Bossuet tells him, low and annoyed. Everyone sends him knowing looks but it’s Courfeyrac who raises his eyebrows at Enjolras.

 “Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. The fact that Grantaire avoided Enjolras, makes him incredibly uncomfortable and he doesn’t quite know why. Grantaire was against them doing this all along, but he was there anyway, taking care of his friends.

“Why wouldn’t he say anything?” he wonders out loud. Why didn’t he just tell Enjolras he wants to help, instead of pretending to be a nuisance at every turn?

Boussett sighs, leaning back against his chair. “Maybe you should ask him that yourself.”

The next morning he goes back to the library.

By then he’s admitted to himself (and grudgingly to Courfeyrac) that he is full on infatuated with Grantaire and that he maybe, possibly wants to do all kinds of silly things like holding hands and kissing and eating lasagna that apparently has no meat in it.

He’s afraid though, greatly so. He really does like Grantaire, as frustrating as he can be he’s also incredible wonderful and if they try something like dating and it doesn’t work out… well, Grantaire has no tie to him at all, not even a mark to affirm a link between them. Grantaire can go out if his life as easy as he came into it and it terrifies him.

He stands in front of the information desk with Grantaire sitting behind it. The counter is circular and pretty high up, when Enjolras is standing in front of him all he notices is a sea of ink black hair and the curve of his shoulders.

“Hello,” he says, trying to get his attention.

Grantaire visibly startles when he lifts his head and spots Enjolras.

“Haven’t seen you in awhile,” Enjolras shuffles his feet awkwardly. Awhile meaning more than a week actually, including the day of the protest where it seems everyone and their mother saw Grantaire except for him. 

“I thought you were mad at me,” Grantaire says softly.

“I was,” says Enjolras.

“So what are you doing here?” He looks down at something on his desk, before inhaling heavily and turning back.

“I, uh,” Enjolras takes the container he’d carefully placed inside his bag this morning and lays it on top of the counter. Enjolras isn’t used to this uncertainty, the thing is that he cares about Grantaire and it’s terrible, dealing with him when he so obviously has a hold on Enjolras that he can’t shake.

Grantaire’s staring at Enjolras expectantly as he gathers his words.

“I made you brownies,” Enjolras says cautiously as his face warms, he probably looks beet red by now. “To say sorry for asking you to leave like that. So uh… I’m sorry.”

Grantaire takes the container and squints at it, as if he could find its hidden mystery that way (its evaporated milk but that’s beside the point).

“You made me sorry brownies?” he asks animatedly but then his mouth turns down. “Enjolras, you don’t need to apologize for that,” he says, clutching tightly at the container.

“I think I do.”

“I was the one being a jerk. I shouldn’t have pushed your buttons and said all that stuff.”

“Then why did you?” he asks, trying to keep the resentment out of his voice.

“Because I meant them,” he sighs, “and because I was worried about what would happen to you—to all of you. It’s just, do you even know what getting expelled could do to all your crazy optimistic plans? Or what can happen to one of you in a jail cell? You’re all good people and I can’t— I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

“We can take care of ourselves, you know.” Enjolras smiles gently, realizing he was right the first time, Grantaire really wants to help in his own way. 

“Yeah, I highly doubt that,” he mocks. “But I guess you won’t hear me running my mouth about it anymore.”

“Right, about that,” he plays uneasily at the strap of his shoulder, feeling how the weight of his bag faintly shifts with each movement. “I didn’t mean for you to stop coming to the meetings,” Grantaire opens his mouth but Enjolras carries on over it, “I know you’re coming from a good place Grantaire, even when you argue with me incessantly and were a great help during the protest, even though you didn’t think it was your fight. And I… I do appreciate how much you care about your friends, so I’d like you to start coming back. That is if you want to, of course.”

“You’re sure?” he asks taken aback.

“Yes. As long as you’re only trying to help, I promise I won’t try to force you to believe they way I do or try to constantly prove you wrong… Well, for the most part.” And he means it. Enjolras rather likes that Grantaire doesn’t always agree with him, it keeps him on his toes.

“If anyone can do it, it just might be you.”

“Do what?”

“Prove me wrong.” They both beam at each other, Grantaire’s cheeks glowing red.

Remembering his other reason for visiting his smile falls. As he rubs the back of his neck he feels a bit faint and his hands start quivering. Still, he gathers his courage by remembering not Courfeyrac’s words but Courfeyrac himself, and by smelling the rich scent of chocolate from Fantine’s recipe. Not everyone ends up leaving, not always.

 “When are you off work?”

“At six, but I’m taking my lunch hour soon. Why?”

“Good,” he takes a quick breath, “Would you want to have dinner with me, tonight?”

“Um, okay?” his eyebrows squish together when he considers Enjolras.

“No, I mean- dinner as in a date, with me.” Enjolras isn’t quite sure what he’s doing here, he’s just waiting for Grantaire to say no.

First he seems at a loss for words, his bottom jaw falling away to form a small ‘o’ with his mouth. A moment passes and he shakes his head, crossing his arms and holding then tight to his body.

"How can you—" Grantaire cuts himself off, huffing in frustration. “Is this a joke?”

Enjolras’ throat goes dry at his reaction. Does that mean he doesn’t want to?

“No, I- its okay if you don’t want to,” he says quietly, his feet shuffling. Well, this is embarrassing, he thinks as his eyes stray towards the ground.

 "You're saying you want to date me?" he says his voice rising while he gets up from his chair.

“Yes, I’d very much like to date you,” Enjolras regards him apprehensively, wondering why Grantaire finds Enjolras wanting to date him such an inconceivable idea. 

Grantaire starts to come around his desk towards Enjolras. “Date?” he continues, “as in going out? Together?” he sucks in air and in a low voice asks, “Romantically?”

He’s starting to think that this isn’t about Enjolras at all, so he insistently adds “Yes, please.”

Grantaire chokes a little and then goes pink all over, it starts at his neck and goes up his face. He murmurs please, his face incredulous and then aims the most breathtaking smile at Enjolras. A sudden giddiness comes over Enjolras in response while they stand face to face, Grantaire clutching the container still in his hands.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he’s still looking bashfully at him and making him hyper aware of the flutters in his stomach. Honestly, the man’s a menace, all broad-shouldered and handsome and then the blushing. He clears his throat and tries to save his dignity, though he’s sure his feelings are pretty transparent when his voice cracks while saying, “Okay, I- I’ll see you tonight then.”

If possible Grantaire’s lips lift even more as he nods slowly. Enjolras flees as soon as possible, belatedly glad that he let Courfeyrac convince him to wear his tight red jeans today.

“Wait,” Grantaire calls from behind him. He turns and Grantaire is already right there grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him towards the back of an empty section in between a large stack that hides them from view.

“Courfeyrac didn’t put you up to this did he? Or Jehan?”

“Why would they-”

“So they didn’t? Tell you to ask me out, I mean? Because if they did you don’t have to feel obligated to—”

He groans, resigning himself to a bit of indignity to get things straight. He grabs Grantaire by both shoulders to make sure he’s listening attentively. 

“I like you,” he says in earnest. “I like your hair and your smile and your devotion to your friends, among other things.”

“But—”

“Hear me out,” he continues exasperated, “I don’t know what that will mean but I’d like to find out, with you. Okay?”

They consider one another in silence, heads bent together with Enjolras’ hands on Grantaire. “Can I?” Grantaire asks, his voice trembling, and Enjolras swallows hard.

There’s barely any time to nod his head before he’s being pinned up against the stack behind him, his heart jumping up to lodge in his throat. Grantaire places his warm hands against Enjolras’ waist. He can feel Grantaire everywhere, the heat from his body pressed up against him making him shift impatiently.

“Does this mean yes?” Enjolras asks, breathlessly focusing on the view of Grantaire’s parted lips.

 “Yes, yes absolutely,” Grantaire declares, right before Enjolras darts in and kisses him.

It’s—it’s—wonderful might be the only word he can think of at the moment. Grantaire’s mouth is warm and his lips are a little chapped, his stubble soft from where Enjolras’ thumb is grazing it as he places his hand on Grantaire’s neck. When Enjolras’ opens his mouth Grantaire’s tongue traces it slowly, the heat of it making Enjolras dizzy and letting him taste the fruity flavor of Grantaire’s mouth. As they pull apart, he can identify what that taste is, it’s the gummy candy he carries in his bag. Grantaire bites at his bottom lip as he regards Enjolras and it makes the blonde groan in frustration.

He looks at Enjolras, eyes glassy, mouth red and wet before huffs out an amused laugh. “So, do you like Italian?”

 

*

He’s grinning when he steps off the elevator and opens the door to that apartment he’s shared with Courfeyrac ever since the move to Paris.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, sitting on their three seat couch, distracted by the video game he’s been playing all week.

Enjolras takes off his coat and moves inside, casually mentioning, “I just kissed Grantaire.”

“Cool,”’ Courfeyrac grunts, tilting the control in his hands. “I just got to level twenty-six. How was—Wait,” the game continues as he veers his head so fast that his hair bounces in the movement. “Did you just say you kissed him?”

Enjolras still can’t believe it himself. The sound of the game’s character dying trickles through the shocked silence.

“Shit,” Courfeyrac laments, he quickly gets over it though because he grabs Enjolras and pulls him on the couch. “Never mind that, tell me everything.”

“I apologized, asked him out and then we kissed.” There’s still a faint taste of stale sweetness in his mouth.

“What, that’s it?” his tone indignant.

“What more do you want?”

“Details, Enjolras!” he throws his hands up and falls against the couch. “He kissed you back right? What kind of kiss was it? Was it nice? Did you stay and make out? You did, didn’t you? I’m so proud. But did he say anything? Are you going out now? Is he moving in? Am I moving out!?”

Enjolras waits long-sufferingly for his rant to end then asks… “You ate all of the leftover brownies didn’t you?”

Courfeyrac blinks. “That is not the point Enjolras. Was it, or was it not a good kiss?”

He goes warm all over again and smiles. Enjolras doesn’t want to imagine what kind of sappy look is on his face so he covers it with both hands.

Courfeyrac squeals loudly and jumps off the couch with a loud, “Fucking finally!”

 

*

Dating Grantaire is not at all what he expected. He’d imagined fireworks, on the good days, and cheesy action movie explosions on the bad. But it turns out to be more of an eye-opening experience. Grantaire is, well he’s an asshole. But he’s also very – sweet. He still fights Enjolras on absolutely everything during meetings and sometimes out of them. Even choosing an appetizer at a new restaurant is met with Grantaire’s teasing.

But then he does things like take Enjolras coffee before class, even when he has 8 a.m. sessions and he knows Grantaire hates to get up before eleven. He gets it wrong every time but Enjolras doesn’t even care, he can’t seem to contain his smile just at the gesture. He’ll wait after meetings now, carefully walking Enjolras to his house and steering him down the longest path to get there with the excuse of showing him something new. Enjolras would call him out except it’s always something really interesting. And when they kiss even his toes light up in a sizzling heat. It feels right.

They’ve been together for at least a month when Enjolras takes him to the underwater tunnel at the Paris aquarium because Grantaire’s never been there before.

“The aquarium, seriously?”

He shoves Grantaire playfully, careful not to push him into one of the tourists behind them in line. “Shut up you’ll like it. My mother brought me and Cosette once, we try to come back every year,” he says in a quiet voice, looking over the images of wild life plastered all over the path towards the entrance. The day is chilly and a bit foggy, thankfully he not only has his coat and scarf but a very warm body he can snuggle up to during the wait.

Grantaire puts his arm around him and they huddle closer together. It turns out Grantaire is incredibly tactile. He’ll touch and hug or poke at every opportunity to show his affection, hardly realizing when he’s doing it. Not that Enjolras is complaining.

There’s a girl looking at them from the end of the line, smiling to herself. Enjolras shifts at the attention and nudges Grantaire who laughs softly. “Relax, she probably just thinks you’re hot.”

“Me? Why do you assume I’m the one she’s staring at?”

“Well she’s not running away in screaming so I can guess it’s not me,” he snorts. Enjolras rolls his eyes and slightly jabs him in the side.

“Ow!” He hates when Grantaire says things like that.

They get inside and head straight towards the tunnel, walking hand and hand. The crystal passageway is beautiful, taking rounded twists that make him feel like he’s in an underwater maze. At some points there are only reefs until they come across a tank full of predators where Grantaire presses his face against the glass like a little kid, amazed by the array of sharks, enormous sting rays and the divers swimming among them.

They make a stop at one of the closed observation decks so Grantaire can sit and sketch some of the more colorful sea life. They’re the only ones inside the small room so Enjolras entertains himself by watching him. The shadow on his left arm, under his jacket, once again catches his eye.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” R replies in a calmly.  He doesn’t even look up from his sketchbook.

“I’m astounded by your originality,” Enjolras fidgets in his seat, mind going to the worse scenario where Grantaire gets mad but he still asks, “No really, can I ask about your soul mate?”

Grantaire’s shoulders slump forward as he keeps moving his pencil on the paper. He doesn’t stop looking down, a beat passes before he slowly reaches out and pulls up his left long sleeve barely enough to see above his wrist. There’s a wrist cuff covering the area, it’s the color of his tanned skin and sticks to him almost like a bandage, he takes that off as well revealing a wide black mark circling his wrist.

“Grantaire…”

“Don’t,” he says forcefully, “Don’t pity me. I never even knew them.”

He grabs Grantaire’s hand, not knowing what to say. “You didn’t?”

“No,” Grantaire tightens their hold and keeps staring at the floor. “It happened when I was seven. My mom was making dinner when my arm started to itch like crazy, and then just like that it was burning.” He hesitates, as if weighing words, “She took me to the hospital and they gave me things for the pain and treated the burn, but that was it… we all knew what it meant.”

“I’m so sorry,” he rubs his thumb soothingly against Grantaire’s hand. Courfeyrac would know what to say right now, in fact he has half a mind to call him and ask but he doesn’t want to let go of Grantaire’s hand.

“Can —May I?” he asks boldly, motioning to their entwined hands.

Grantaire does look up then, gaping at Enjolras for an awkward pause. Without a word, he let’s go of Enjolras to shrug off his jacket and quickly clasps their hands together again, giving him a shaky nod. Enjolras raises their hands and uses his right one to lift the sleeve of Grantaire’s sweater completely up. 

“Oh”, he says with a tone of surprise. The mark is an ample ring around his arm about an inch over his wrist, but further up Grantaire has a tattoo of what appears to be like a forest. Everything is a deep black and yet the mark is a clear contrast to the ink, something that undeniably belongs on his skin.

That’s what happens when your soul mate dies; the patch of skin from a soul mark burns like it’s wounded by fire and instead of scarring white it turns black signaling someone’s mourning. It’s what he always checks for, every time he feels even a tickle near his own mark. He can’t even imagine what it must have been like for Grantaire, just a little boy in so much pain.

“The thing they don’t tell you,” Grantaire continues, regarding his mark like he could stare through it, “is that it takes years to go black. It was a deep aching red, heavy with blisters from the start and though it healed in a few months it still stayed completely red and swollen and painful to the touch. Eventually I started to see little slices of black until every inch of the burn finished going dark and yeah it stopped hurting but it was also the worst part. I hated what that meant. Nothing was going to change it, people looked at it and all they saw was this horrible story, they pitied me and treated me link an idiot. I swear I spent half of my high school years wearing this big bracelet.”

Enjolras wants to tell him he understands but he knows the loss can’t be the same. It’s one thing to feel it and another to have it literally burned into your skin. Carefully he traces up the branches on one of the trees with the pad of his finger, noting the detail. The tattoo is a cluster of trees going around his arm, instead of roots they start at the mark and go up almost to his elbow.

“You drew this,” it’s not a question, the lines are similar to the flier Enjolras has tacked up on his wall.

“Yeah, when I was sixteen. It was a rough time, I felt pretty alone and it’s not like a soul mate would’ve fixed that but I just, missed them you know?” Enjolras nods, he knows.

“So this is for them,” he concludes. He wasn’t an artist and knew nothing of depicting things like this but it was easy to see what the flowing trees coming out from his mark represent. Father likes to say that tattooing something into the patch of your soulmark was a horrible ritual, too vulgar for proper company. Enjolras quite liked it. 

 “Why do you hide it?”

 “I don’t, usually. But some people see the patch and ask and get so weird when I take it off, it’s just easier to wear long sleeves.” Grantaire starts shifting in his seat a bit, twisting at his sweater like he wants to already pull it down. 

“Thank you, for showing me,” he does feel grateful that Grantaire would trust him. Without a second thought to the people that might by them Enjolras takes off his coat quickly followed by his own sweater and the t-shirt he wears underneath it.

“Um,” Grantaire gawks at him, mouth going wide. Enjolras smirks and angles himself so Grantaire can better notice his tattoo. His mouth closes with a snap and then he frowns, eyes narrowing. “Joly said-”

“I don’t have a soul mate. I mean I had- I have a mark and no bond.”

“Bondless?” he gasps, “that is, that’s really rare Enjolras.”

“I know.” Leave it to Grantaire to have read up on it already, he thinks fondly.

“Like there’ve been maybe 50 documented cases kind of rare.”

“I know—”

“I mean, 7 out of 10 people find their soulmates following their bond. The rest might grow up together or something.”

“Grantaire—”

“Sorry it’s just that,” he opens and clothes his mouth, a bit like the fish they’re surrounded by. “You caught me off guard. Do you even have a plan for this?”

“What are—?”

“Well you can’t count on the bond intensifying with proximity, you’ll have to get creative, won’t you? There are websites aren’t there? And mixers I think-”

“Grantaire!” he finally cuts him short. “I’m not looking for them.”

He stares at Enjolras uncomprehendingly, “Why not?”

Enjolras rubs his face. He hates trying to reason his way through it, most people would rather pretend there’s something wrong with him then listen.

“Well, you know how I think the entire system is ludicrous. I’ve met people who’ve fallen in love with someone with a different mark, there are platonic soul mates and people with no mark— all perfectly happy.

The statistics on soul mate based abusive marriages alone is enough to know that a bond isn’t a precursor for compatibility or even love. Un-paired marriages don’t have even a quarter of the legal and social advantages that soul mate marriages have and yet there’s lesser divorce rates and—”

Grantaire softly touches his bare forearm making him stop mid-sentence. His mouth twists slightly like he ate something sour and asks, “Aren’t you the least bit curious? Don’t you want to know?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “I’m likely to never know what happened,” he explains. 

“No,” Grantaire tugs his sleeve down and plays with the hem of his sweater as he says, “Don’t you want to know them?”

He’s not wrong, Enjolras _would_ like to know their name, the slope of their face. “I already do in a way. I used to sense them, for years actually. And then they were just… gone.”

“So, what? You think by choice? I- Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter? I wouldn’t recognize them without a bond, unless they randomly show me their mark.” The fish are pressing against the glass on their side, oddly he feels a bit self-conscious under their stares and he’s starting to get cold so he puts his t-shirt back on. Grantaire shoots him a mock glare in disappointment.

“Yes it fucking matters, there’s someone out there who’s made for you!” Grantaire huffs, standing up sharply.

“Grantaire…” he says, unsure on how to continue.

Enjolras follows suit, almost tripping down the set of steps they’d been sitting on. Grantaire places himself right in front of the glass, back to Enjolras. But Enjolras can still see his pained expression reflected in the tank windowpane.

Grantaire slowly shakes his head and turns back. “Sorry, it’s just that I wonder sometimes if they’d been alive, if I’d be— and you don’t— it doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, seemingly nonchalant.

“It does matter, I think,” he says, “We can talk about it if you want to.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Grantaire bites his bottom lip and drawing Enjolras’ eyes straight to it.

“You’re my boyfriend and Jehan insists talking about your feelings is in the job description.”

His voice going from soft to teasing in warp speed Grantaire asks, “Boyfriend?”

Enjolras cringes, “Oh, are we not… that?” he tucks his arms to his side, fighting the urge to cover his face in embarrassment. But Grantaire takes a step towards him, smiling warmly.

“Yes, we are that,” he declares, then says, “Thank you for showing me,” indicating Enjolras’ mark by covering it with his hand over the t-shirt, “it’s very beautiful.”

He feels a low heat in his stomach and on his chest, right where Grantaire’s touching him. Their eyes meet and they lean into each other. Enjolras reaches over, hands clutching Grantaire’s curls lightly and ignoring Grantaire’s smirk, pulls him in, sliding their lips together into a deep kiss.

 “Ahem,” someone calls from the side.

They pull apart and they’re both a little breathless but smiling wide. Someone clears their throat once more and they both turn their heads in sync, a family of four is staring right at them, the kids with grins and the parents with wide eyes. Behind him Grantaire almost falls to the floor laughing while Enjolras mutters and apology, quickly grabs their things and pushes Grantaire towards the nearest exit.

*

Bossuet comes to him one day as he’s arguing with someone’s ridiculous reply on today’s blog post, and waiting for his ice coffee.

 “What are you doing?” Bossuet demands, slanting his head back and looking down at him.

“I’m… getting coffee?”

 “No, with R,” Bossuet insists as he sits at the empty chair next to him, a big blueberry muffin in his hand.  “Do you care about him or do you _care_ about him?” Enjolras isn’t sure what that even means, but Bossuet continues speaking before he can ask. “Because I’m here to warn you, if you’re waiting on someone else or just want something casual, you should back off now before anyone gets hurt.”

“I’m not,” he says firmly. He’s not playing at anything when it comes to Grantaire.

Bossuet’s eyes soften but his mouth remains stern. “I don’t know the whole story with your soul mate or why you aren’t together, and it’s none of my business,” he hurries to add when Enjolras opens his mouth. “But you and Grantaire, I just… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Enjolras shifts his weight off of the table, raising an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“Just… be careful.”

 “I’ll try my best not to hurt him,” he says, “I give you my word.”

He holds his gaze and nods. “I’m trusting you,” Bossuet says. “So don’t make me regret it,” he finishes with rueful smile

He shakes his head and walks away, leaving his half eaten muffin behind.

*

Before he knows it Enjolras finds himself collecting random facts about Grantaire.  It isn’t until Bahorel asks where Grantaire is and Enjolras automatically responds with a quick at the art supply store downtown, that he even notices how familiar he already is with most things related to him: Grantaire likes cinnamon rolls, prefers TV over movies, makes fun of Enjolras for installing a ‘date night’ but takes over planning every single one with aplomb. He’ll dance to anything if he’s drunk enough and likes walnuts in his brownies. Every new piece of information is thrilling, like Enjolras is unraveling him bit by bit. 

He sends these voicemails when he knows Enjolras is in class or at the youth center. At first they’re rambling thoughts of admiration that make Enjolras blush. One day it’s a song, a beautiful melody and his sweet voice just washing over Enjolras. He listens to it constantly when Grantaire isn’t around and Jehan catches him at it at least twice, he just smiles coyly at Enjolras. As time passes the messages get cruder. Not that he’s complaining.

Underneath his covers on a cold bitter afternoon in February, they have sex for the first time. Through it all Enjolras can only focus on Grantaire’s smile, small and easy as they run their hands over each other, touching for hours. It’s sweaty and amazing, before Grantaire he’d barely kissed anybody, and the new rush of sensations is enough to have his skin boiling as they collide, Grantaire’s mouth panting against his own, whispering about how good Enjolras feels wrapped around him.

They sleep together for the first time that night as well. Laying there, tangled together trading kisses with no hurry Enjolras smiles, spooning up against Grantaire and whispering, “I think I’ll keep you.” Grantaire laughs, loudly pressing a kiss to his cheek, but Enjolras couldn’t be more serious.

 

*

**2011**

It’s December 15th and the Musain is decorated with cheap red and gold tinsel and a cheery plastic Santa sitting in the middle of their makeshift large table. It’s almost Christmas and Les Amis are gathered in their last meeting of the year, they’ve just dismissed the official talk and start going around the room sharing their plans for the upcoming break. Feuilly’s staying in town, Jehan is distracted by the early present Grantaire got him (“Is that a … human skull?” “It’s a cookie jar!”), and Éponine is making dinner for Gavroche. He’s diverted from Bahorel’s answer by the new cast on his left arm.

“What happened to your arm?”

“You don’t want to know,” he says deadpan.

“Right,” Joly blinks, “Well Musichetta’s making her famous Bundt cake, and she promised to make double for you this year, R!”

“Um,” Grantaire says sheepishly, “actually Enjolras invited me to go home with him.”

Enjolras, sitting next to him, smiles fondly and takes his hand. After more than a year of dating it made sense to introduce Grantaire to his family. The months passed almost too quickly for Enjolras and here they were an actual couple with things like anniversaries and routines.  In all fairness, neither of them would actually remember nor stick to them if it weren’t for Courfeyrac’s pestering. But still, they have them.

There’s the loud buzz of their friends ‘ _aw_ ’ and the smack of lips when Éponine and Bahorel make kissy faces. He glowers at them but it’s futile seeing that it just makes everyone laugh harder. Everyone but Bossuet, his usual jovial expression replaced by a pointed glare aimed at Enjolras.

“Wait,” says Courfeyrac, “You are going home for Christmas, seriously? Last year I invited you back home with me and you literally hid inside the closet.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. That’s a bold exaggeration, though he has done worse things to avoid spending the holidays trying to make small talk with his father. “Cossette is visiting from America and she insisted. Father will be out of town anyway.”

“Yeah so there will be no meeting the parents,” Grantaire says. Enjolras knows he’s relieved at being able to skip that part of their trip.

“Meeting the sister! That’s ten times worse,” Jehan teases.

Grantaire shoots him a panicked look, “You said she was really sweet!”

“Man, she’s so sweet it’s kind of scary. That just means when she gets you, you’ll never see it coming.” Courfeyrac smirks, his eyes glinting in amusement at Grantaire’s expense.

Enjolras smiles and adjusts his grip, holding Grantaire’s hand closer. “Don’t worry, she’ll love you.”

Courfeyrac pretends to slit his throat with his finger as a ‘you’re dead’ gesture. Grantaire takes a red napkin and throws it at his face. 

 

*

“Holy shit, this is your house?”

Unlocking the door and looking back he has to bite his lip not to smile at Grantaire when he gawks in disbelief at the estate. He shakes the snow off of his hair and sighs at finally being in the heat. The train ride had been jam-packed with people traveling for the holidays making their trip a bit uncomfortable and much longer than usual. Everyone told him to come up days earlier but Enjolras didn’t want to stay in the manor for longer than he had to, thus they’re behind schedule to change and get to Valjean’s house.

“What, no butler?” asks Grantaire, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the entrance hall.

“Oh yes, he’s bringing the carriage,” Enjolras says with a smile. Actually there was only a regular staff of three people since his father was the only one living in the house. Even Fantine moved out when Enjolras started at university. Thankfully, they were all on holiday, leaving a big empty house all for them.

“Enjolras?” A voice decidedly not Grantaire’s calls from the stairs. His father appears on the stairs, regarding them with shock.

 “Father? I thought you were in Prague?” At least that’s what he’d thought last week. 

 “Enjolras, what a surprise!” he says as he walks down the stairs, altering between looking at Enjolras and surveying Grantaire.  He’s in a formal suit and dress shoes, peppered gray hair glinting as he approaches.   “Our flight was cancelled, who’s this?”

He twists and quickly grabs Grantaire’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Grantaire.”

“Hello,” Grantaire offers his other hand to shake, ears turning red.

His father shakes it and immediately dismisses him, turning to Enjolras. “I’m just off to dinner at The Pogue, care to join me?”

The very last thing he wants is to spend an evening at a stuck up restaurant with his father and a terrified Grantaire. “No, thank you. I promised to eat dinner with Cosette.”

“Very well,” he says. There’s an awkward moment where he openly stares at them again, before wishing “Merry Christmas,” and leaving through the door.

“Sorry,” he offers Grantaire, who only shrugs.

When they get to the house, Grantaire’s shifting nervously outside the door. Enjolras meets his eyes for a beat and sees his apprehension. He’s about to reassure him when the door opens, there’s a loud shriek and someone else comes barreling towards him.

“Cossette!” he yells in warning but she’s already thrown herself in his arms, making him have to struggle to hold her up before she falls to the floor. 

“Merry Christmas!” she exclaims just inches before his face. Her blue eyes, so similar to his mother’s, are wide and shinning. Her playful grin is contagious and soon he’s laughing at the sight of her smiling face.

“You know, they say the oldest is supposed to be the mature one.”

“Age is just a number little brother, or do you feel wiser and more mature than yesterday?”

“Well, I do feel more weighed down,” he feigns almost dropping her which makes her snicker before she carefully wiggles out of his arms.

She turns to Grantaire and her smile drops. “Oh,” she gasps.

“Um, hi? I’m Grantaire?” he stammers out.

“Hi,” she smiles stiffly. “Come in! Come in!”

Grantaire goes first, Cosette glares at Enjolras from behind him, giving Enjolras the ‘what did you?’ eyebrow shake. “What?” he whispers once their inside and Grantaire’s busy giving his coat to Marius.

“You brought someone!” she accuses, her tone reminds him of when he once painted underwear on one of her Barbies with sharpies and she cried to Fantine about it for days.

“I told you I was! I said ‘we’ll be there’.”

“I thought you meant Courfeyrac,” she murmurs back, briefly eyeing Grantaire. “Are you really meeting each other’s families already?” she asks with her wide worried eyes.

Before he can answer Marius is there. Enjolras greets him and tries to hold in his snicker at how Marius is visibly sweating, seemingly from nerves. He quickly sobers as he notices Grantaire fidgeting, equally tense. He leaves his coat and goes to him, putting his arm around Grantaire’s waist. His boyfriend smiles sweetly at him and leans a bit against him. When he moves his head Cosette is staring at them with a slight frown. 

They go into the lounge and Fantine is already there. Enjolras quickly hurries over to hug her, breathing a sigh of relief when she hugs him back tightly.

Grinning, he pushes Grantaire towards her. “This is who I told you about!” he says with delight.

Grantaire blinks at him, confused by his enthusiasm probably. Enjolras couldn’t help it, two of his favorite people were here and meeting each other. Fantine just laughs and hugs R as well, easily starting a conversation about school and art.

Eventually, he leaves them alone because he takes pity on Marius nervously chatting with Valjean. They talk about Marius and law school, every time he glances over Fantine is laughing easily with R. Enjolras takes a moment to appreciate Grantaire’s blush and Fantine’s wide smile before Cossette announces they can take their seats.

“Alright Enjolras,” Cosette says excitedly, as soon as they’re all served, “Tell me everything I’ve missed.” She watches him keenly, hands on her chin, and Enjolras rolls his eyes fondly.

“Nothing new I suppose. There’s the blog, it’s really getting a lot of traffic lately. And I’m working on my thesis and class,” he shifts at the attention, “mostly the last month has been about Grantaire’s show,” he turns to Grantaire sitting next to him, smiling proudly.

“Show?” Fantine asks with interest. “Are you showcasing your work already Grantaire? That’s wonderful!”

Grantaire shoots him a reproachful look and Enjolras smirks, “It’s nothing, just something at the University,” he says, chin dipping down.

Enjolras shakes his head, “It is not nothing. Grantaire’s work is amazing, I’ve been more than a few times to look at it and his is the best by far.” He can tell talking about him makes Grantaire self-conscious by the flush that creeps across his cheeks.

“Enjolras you hate art shows,” Cossette comments, brows pulling in.

“Well… I like Grantaire’s,” he shrugs. Grantaire works with abstract art and it’s all pretty confusing but still incredibly pleasant to look at. Besides, each time he goes Grantaire will go around the room with him explaining his pieces. Even if it goes over his head watching R confidently walk the room is worth the hours spent at the gallery.  

“Right,” she throws them another wavering smile. “Well we have good news too,” she continues, linking her hand with Marius, “come June we’ll be moving back to Paris.”

Around the table everyone starts talking at once, exited by the new. Enjolras gets up as she motions for him, letting her wrap him around a tight hug. “You’ll have to give me a tour of the Louvre now that you’re such an expert.”

“I don’t think I’d be any good at that,” He chuckles, “I’ll leave that to the expert.”

Cosette looks at him strangely, “You mean Grantaire? As in we’ll all go together, in June.”

He looks at her curiously and then at Grantaire, tilting his head. Grantaire says “Sure,” with a smile, though Cosette still looks confused.

The rest of dinner passes slowly with Fantine gushing at them, Marius and Valjean unnervingly silent and Cosette, who won’t stop asking pointed questions about their relationship.

Finally she asks, “Enjolras, can you help me get the dessert plates please?”

As soon as they move into the kitchen she’s rounding on him, “What are you doing?” she asks in an angry whisper. It’s just what Bossuet asked months ago and it immediately puts him on edge, especially with how she’s been acting around Grantaire all night.

 “Is this about Grantaire? Do you not like him?” he remembers telling her about R after their first date, she’s always been happy for him when he brings it up, it’s not like this relationship is something new.

“No, of course not,” her smile is sad when she sighs, “he seems very nice, but I’m worried about you Enjolras.” She cocks her head to one side. “Can I ask you something without you getting defensive?”

She’s going to ask whether he wants her to or not, Enjolras knows that much. “What?” he asks warily.

“Have you tried looking for your soul mate?”

“Oh not this again.” He’s so sick of everyone’s obsession with this subject.

She nods as if to herself. “It feels like you’ve given up on them completely! Your person is out there and you already have all these plans with Grantaire and your future, which would be fine but … you’re not even thinking about finding them are you?”

“No,” he states as clearly as he can. “I love Grantaire and I am planning a future with him. Whether I’m interested in finding my soul mate or not, it is my choice to make.”

“Of course it is. But Enjolras, a soul mate it’s— it doesn’t mean giving anything up, it’s someone who adds so much to your life. Marius and I—

“Oh please,” he snorts in disdain.

She arches an eyebrow at that, if Courfeyrac were here he’d call them the fury twins like when they used to fight as children. “I’m just worried on what you’re willing to miss out on because of some misguided sense of pride!”

She was probably right in that sense, though it meant absolutely nothing to him.

He can sense his nostrils flare in anger as he growls out, “I’m done talking about this, Cossette, just because I don’t want a life just like yours doesn’t mean I can’t be happy.”

Because Enjolras has waited his whole life to feel what others have felt and be normal, now he just wants to be happy, Grantaire makes him happy.

He turns to leave but freezes when she cries, “Don’t you miss them?” in a desolate tone.

Yes, he doesn’t say. And so what, if he still thought about them sometimes.

That’s his past.

He leaves the kitchen and everyone in the table is frozen, and yeah of course they heard, including Grantaire who looks completely defeated. Enjolras grabs R and says, “We’re leaving.”

Fucking- shit! Enjolras is such a moron. They ride in silence back to his father’s house and Enjolras has no idea what to say to Grantaire or how to apologize. He knows Grantaire has self-esteem issues, though they’ve never talked about them —any idiot can see he thinks he’s not good enough for Enjolras. He tries his to best to not feed into those thoughts and now he’s gone and put him in a situation where he can get hurt. All because he couldn’t bare a couple of weeks on his own.

He’s mad at Cosette and he’s mad at himself. They get home and he can’t help slamming the door in anger, finally breaking the tentative silence. “Can you believe her?” His body tense and his pulse racing he storms into the leaving room, Grantaire trailing behind him.

“How fucking dare she!” he yells.

“Relax,” Grantaire says, watching him guardedly. There’s a noise from the kitchen and they both look up to see his father emerging once more.

“Enjolras,” he says, walking in with a drink in his hand. He nods to Grantaire then motions to Enjolras. “Your sister’s been calling for the past half hour, something about you storming out of dinner? Really, Enjolras, haven’t you outgrown this childish habit of running away?”

Enjolras clenches his hands at his sides, “We had a disagreement and I left, that’s all.”

“Oh?” he asks twirling his drink in his hand before taking a sip, “On Christmas eve, well what about?”

 “She’s just mad I’m not looking for a perfect soul bond like her and Marius,” he explains bitterly.

“Well she’s being silly.”

Enjolras widens his eyes in surprise. He wasn’t expecting his father to agree with him.

“You’re very young still, there’s time. Though I do wish you’d start at least thinking about your future Enjolras, you are almost finished with school after all. Everything comes in its own time but I’m thinking that we finally use that private detective I was telling you about, he specializes in odd cases like yours.”

His heart sinks, he doesn’t know why he expected any better. “I told you I don’t want to do that.”

“Son, it is time you stop being so irresponsible, you can’t expect to be welcomed in the right places without an appropriate partner.”

He crosses his arms and glances at Grantaire who’s all but standing in a corner looking awkward and miserable.

 “I have an appropriate partner,” he insists.

His father grunts, “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not like you two could ever be properly married and the connection could never compare to your soul mate. You’re being purposely obtuse, it’s time to stop this silliness and get ready for a real commitment.”

He feels a roiling heat simmer in his belly. He always knew his father was a selfish idiot. Raising an eyebrow towards his father he calmly tells him, “Fuck you.”

His father’s eyes widen but Enjolras continues. “I am committed; I’m committed to Grantaire. In fact, we’re even getting married!” he yells, pulse racing, “Yes that’s right your son is going to get married and be un-paired, fucking _deal with it_!”

He wants to storm off but holds his grown, glaring defiantly. His father inspects him quietly, and then glances quickly at Grantaire before shaking his head. “We’ll talk about this when you aren’t set on being stubborn,” he says as he leaves.

What the hell is wrong with everyone? He paces around the living room, his mind burning from what they’ve said.

“Stop,” Grantaire commands. He pushes off the wall and comes closer, taking both Enjolras’ hands in his. The action calms him right up until he opens his mouth. “Enjolras, you can’t get mad at your family for—“

“CAN’T GET MAD?” he bellows, “They’ve completely disregarded our relationship and treated you as if you weren’t even there the entire night! Of course I’m fucking mad.” No, not mad. He’s furious. He has acquaintances that know about Grantaire and ask him all the time ‘so when are you going to settle down and find your person?’ as if Grantaire was only a distraction until he got things straight. He expects it from strangers, even his father to a point, never from Cosette.

“They’re right,” Grantaire whispers. “I’m not who you’re meant to be with.”

The entire night has been one attack after the other and no, Grantaire is not joining in on this bullshit. “Screw that, I get to choose who I’m meant to be with.”

He shakes his head. “No, listen,” his voice is tight and his hands shake Enjolras’, “There’s someone out there born to be your perfect fit. I could never live up to what you’ll have with—”

“Will you fucking STOP?” Enjolras screams. Grantaire drops his hands and stares at him in shock. “I am so tired of you shitting all over yourself. You’ve done it ever since I met you. You think you’re never good enough and that’s crap!”

“Fuck, Enjolras, you think this is easy for me? Do you think I want to be waiting for the day you’ll leave?”

He clenches his teeth. “Well find a comfortable chair because that is not fucking happening. I love you! I am not leaving unless you want me to. If my family has to sit up and deal with it then SO DO YOU!” he shouts out, feeling winded at the end.

“… You love me?” Grantaire gasps softly, a dazed look on his face.

Enjolras’ breath catches. “You knew that,” he says, voice uncertain. 

Grantaire shakes his head. He takes a step closer.

 “Well then, you’re an idiot,” he sighs, but it lacks bite. He curls his fingers around his boyfriend’s lower back, basking in the hard lines of R’s body. What a fool, Grantaire, because of course Enjolras was keeping him. He’d already said so quite insistently. Grantaire let’s Enjolras pull him in, meshing their fronts. He smiles and kisses Enjolras on the head before pressing their foreheads together.

 “If you want to find your soul mate-” Leave it to Grantaire to be contradictory and try and ruin the moment.

“Ugh,” Enjolras moans.

“No no, listen,” Grantaire calms him by placing one hand on Enjolras’ shoulder and resting the other on his nape.  “If you ever want to find them, if you have a chance; I am right there with you okay? I’m not leaving if you don’t want me to either.”

“Okay,” he says warmly. Never leave, he manages not to say.

Suddenly Grantaire shuffles forward, fingers threading in his hair while their lips touch tenderly. They stay like that for some time, foreheads still touching, trading soft and small kisses that linger a bit too long. The tension seems to bleed out of him every time they press their lips together so he just keeps pressing back in for more.

Grantaire breaks them apart with a laugh, when he does his eyes crinkle at the sides. “I can’t believe you defended me like that.”

 “I’m sorry they both said those things,” he says, narrowing his eyes at the memory.

“It’s okay.” Grantaire still smells faintly of pine and snow from outside, covering his usual musk of soap and something woodsy. He revels in it, brushing his nose against Grantaire’s collarbone.

“No,” he insists, “you’re supposed to be safe here, me too for that matter.”

“They care about you.”

“No, you care about me.”

“Hey,” Grantaire says quietly, face glowing. “I love you too”

Enjolras presses his mouth against Grantaire’s neck, kissing it gently. “Clearly.”

They shuffle up the stairs together and into his room, Enjolras clearing his things away while R strews them all over the floor.  They’re laying on the bed about to go to sleep when Grantaire says, “By the way, what’s with the whole marrying me thing? I mean that was just to piss your dad off, right?”

Enjolras nestles closer into Grantaire’s chest, rubbing a hand up and down his side he laugh quietly, a bit embarrassed at his outburst but too warm to really care. “No, I meant it. As soon as I finish graduate school I want you to be my husband.”

“That could still take years. You’ll be sick of me by then,” he says as he plays with Enjolras’ curls.

He closes his eyes at the sensations and sighs. “No I won’t.”

“Prove it.”

“Okay,” he carefully pushes himself up to look at Grantaire in the eyes, “I’ll prove it. Move in with me now.”

Grantaire beams.

*

It’s not easy. Living together brings out a whole set of problems that they can’t ignore like before. R drinking, going on binges if he’s had a bad day and Enjolras working late and not taking care of himself; for which Enjolras will yell or Grantaire will pester and they’ll fight even more living together than ever. It’s hard to let R in and stop working late and R has dark moods and it takes some time to figure out when to approach and when to leave him alone but they keep trying. But it’s not all bad, R makes him breakfast and gets him to stay in bed for hours some mornings. The go to the market together like actual grownups and everything. They eat with Courfeyrac on Sundays and go back to the aquarium regularly.

But it’s worth it. Grantaire’s his family, nothing can change that.

The best thing is knowing Grantaire in an entirely new way. He leaves the dishes out for hours and eat all of the granola bars in one sitting. He’ll stay awake until three a.m. some days, just painting. There are papers scattered all over the house, despite how many sketch books Enjolras buys him.

It’s hard, but for the most part it feels like everything’s working out.  

*

**2014**

He’s sitting at the café waiting for Cosette when on instinct he looks up, though there was no sound or movement to catch his attention. He’s stuck looking fixating at the door. There’s nothing there, he just knows he’s waiting. Something’s going to happen.

He sees the motion of the door as it swings open towards the shop.  The room goes completely silent, or at least that’s what it seems to him.

A man walks through the door, as soon as he’s inside his gaze locks with Enjolras’.

The reaction in Enjolras is immediate, something bubbles up his throat and his muscles tighten right at the back of his neck. He's itchy all over.

The man takes a step closer and no, just- No. Enjolras starts shaking his head but the man is already coming closer. His hand comes up automatically to grip his left shoulder. His legs are trembling and oh, look at that, he’s stood up from his chair without even noticing. His heart starts pounding increasingly faster and faster.

The man is standing right in front of him. He’s taller than Enjolras, at least by a few inches. He opens his mouth, a brief sigh escaping it before starting to say something.

“I… I can’t believe—”

That voice wakes him up in a way caffeine never could. Enjolras is hyper aware of what’s happening now, which makes him forcefully shake his head once more. The man closes his mouth with a loud snap. He takes a quick step back and catches his foot on the chair. Long arms reach out as if to grab him. Dodging the man’s hands on impulse, he takes hold of the side of the table for support instead.

The man holds both hands up in a silent apology and the motion draws Enjolras’ gaze towards his face. The expression on his face— he looks so _hurt_.

He can’t do this. Looking away makes it easier to notice how much attention they’ve gathered from the other patrons. As soon as the other man follows his movement to look around them Enjolras doesn’t hesitate, he quickly bypasses him and practically sprints towards the door.

“Wait!” a panicked voice calls from behind him. Turning around is a real effort. He feels lightheaded and just, overwhelmed. He needs to leave.

“Please,” says the taller man, his eyes were pleading.

Enjolras _wants_ to say something like ‘no’ or ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘get the fuck away from me’ but his mouth won’t cooperate.

The last thing he hears is a frantic “No— please, wait!” before he runs out the door.

 

***

 

**Grantaire**

**2014**

It blindsides Grantaire one morning, almost three years into their relationship; Enjolras and him are a _thing, a_ real, domesticated, long-term _thing_.

The thought comes to him randomly as he’s folding the Captain America boxers he bought Enjolras months ago. Not only is he putting away laundry, itself a previously inconceivable achievement, but he’s putting away _their_ laundry. His and Enjolras’ laundry, in their washing machine, in their apartment.

It’s pretty messed up.

A few years ago Joly took him to a meeting because he was too drunk to be left alone that night, and he snickered his way through a speech that reeked of ridiculous idealism but stayed in his head all through his hangover. Who would’ve known that coming back week after week just to listen to the godlike creature that spouted the nonsense would make him turn into an infatuated idiot? Who could guess the god wasn’t a god at all,  just an even bigger idiot than Grantaire who actually went and asked him out? Who’d stayed and tried to make him chicken soup when Grantaire was sick or bought him Christmas presents a month earlier so he wouldn’t forget.

Now they share an apartment, like actual grownups in a long term relationship and here Grantaire is waiting for Enjolras to come home to _him_. He’d laugh if it didn’t still seem like a dream he’d soon wake up from.

The sound of cheery whistling is undeniably coming from him and he doesn’t even care. Today is a good day, his class let out early today, he’s ahead on his commissions and he’s going to seduce his amazing gorgeous boyfriend the moment he walks through the door.

The sound of keys jiggling make his stomach flutter in anticipation, and then the door is opening, and Grantaire’s big smile is hastily dimmed by the sound of it slamming shut.

He hears more noises, it sounds like a crash followed by loud breathing, so he peers out of the bedroom first.

Enjolras has thrown his bag across the living room floor, his papers scattered all through it.

He tries to think about what could have made Enjolras upset but comes short. For a moment he worries it might have been him, something he did, except Enjolras had been downright cheery when he left in the morning, bringing him coffee in bed, teasing him by stealing one of his shirts to wear and kissing him goodbye.

He’s sitting on their couch with his hands on his face, from this angle Grantaire can barely see his profile but it’s clear he’s distressed by the mess of his blonde curls and from his shirt, immaculate this morning but now wrinkled like someone had been pulling at the collar with force. The arch of his back is almost nonexistent as he hunches over himself in his seat. His hands are shaking.

 Grantaire snaps out of his daze and starts towards Enjolras with every intention of taking him into his arms.

The doorbell rings.

Enjolras’ head snaps up, leaving Grantaire looking at his nape and his stiff stance from behind. There’s just one person he can think of who could be visiting that could make his poised and composed boyfriend tense up so much.

Something, maybe his exaggerated sense of self preservation, makes him stand still and not announce his presence.

Except it’s not Enjolras’ father, there’s a stranger at the door. The man doesn’t say anything and neither does Enjolras. They just stand there, across the threshold, staring at each other. The scene is unsettling and on instinct he steps back towards the same spot behind the door, just short of going out the room but still able to bend his head and look without being noticed.

As they stand there, quietly taking each other in, Grantaire grudgingly calls to mind how when things get a little too good, life likes to perform a reality check or two just to keep you on your toes.

It’s Enjolras who comes back to himself first. “Did you follow me?”

Grantaire knows that harsh tone. That’s his ‘ _are you kidding me?’_ voice, usually reserved for government officials.

The man must identify the tone as well since he twists his face in a grimace, almost as if the question hurt. With tight lips and downturned eyes, he hands Enjolras something, a wallet from the looks of it. “You left this.”

Enjolras contemplates it like it’s going to come out and bite him and then reaches out and carefully takes it. “What do you want?” he asks, his voice rising.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy I just, I mean I didn’t—I couldn’t risk not knowing how to find you again.”

Enjolras shakes his head, bringing his hands to wrap around himself. His face is set in stone, looking annoyed to anyone who doesn’t know him. To Grantaire he looks scared. “I think I made it clear I didn’t want to be found.”

“If we could maybe talk? My name is Combeferre and, I already know I’m not —I just thought, maybe if we could speak in person?” He’s tall, he stands over Enjolras about half a foot higher and yet he seems so small just standing there at the edge of the entrance way.

Enjolras shakes his head, “I can’t—you need to leave,” he murmurs.

The man nods in earnest, his black rimmed glasses bouncing with the movement.  “Okay, I’ll- I’ll go.” He takes something and carefully places it on the floor, “If you ever need to reach me,” he says, motioning to whatever he just left. He watches Enjolras’ face for a moment, a pleading look in his eyes, until finally he nods once more and leaves. 

Enjolras remains stuck gazing out the door, and then he reaches down and grabs something small, holding it tight in his fist.

He turns back, closing the door and leaning against it he starts breathing fast, taking large gulps of air in between. His head hits the door with a hard _thunk_ and he slides down it, hugging his knees to his chest.

Grantaire recoils back so he won’t be seen. Slowly he walks towards the bed and sits on the edge, his mind reeling, trying to process what he just saw. That man, Combeferre he said his name was. That man could be anyone, from one of Enjolras’ classmates to the new guy at the newspaper who never gets the coffee orders right. But _anyone_ wouldn’t have stood in front of Enjolras like that, head high and stance almost regal, like he was fit to be exactly where he was. Like an equal.

He hears more movement and panics, going straight to their closet on impulse. He needn’t have worried because a second later he hears Enjolras go into the bathroom and close the door.

There are three reactions fighting in Grantaire’s head for attention. The first is the itch to grab a pencil and start a sketch, as to not lose the memory of the standoff he just witnessed. They complemented each other just from sight, both standing motionless except for the twitch of their left foot, one to take a step forward and the other back like they were dancing in sync. They were two kings standing face to face in each side of a chess board, or no— a queen protecting her king, her most valued piece that stays silent all through the game until the very end of the match when only he is left standing.

The second is the thought that he needs a drink. There are no bottles left in the house, he’d gotten rid of those himself. That leaves begging their downstairs neighbor, Abby, for some of the vodka she keeps in her fridge or going to the store himself. Except Abby is likely at her girlfriend’s house and Grantaire is sure he can’t actually move from where he’s crouching in the bedroom closet.

The third is to call Enjolras because that’s what he does now. When he’s shaking and scared, when he feels like everything is crumbling on top of him, he calls Enjolras. Because Enjolras is his boyfriend, his partner, and they agreed long ago that before doing anything stupid, anything hurtful, he would call Enjolras. He takes his phone from his pocket and looks for his recent calls. His finger hovers over Enjolras name out of habit. Enjolras is here though; Grantaire could just call out his name. But he’s in the shower, isn’t he? He’s going to take a shower and he’s going to take off the shirt he took from Grantaire and throw it to the floor.

His thumb presses down on the phone and the other line starts ringing.

“Hey, R.”

He does what he always does when he has no idea what’s going on or where he is or what’s happening, that’s usually after a binger night but this feels just as bad. He calls Joly.

“Where are you?”

He must sound worse than he thinks because Joly’s voice instantly goes alert. “I’m near your place, are you alone? You need me to get you?”

Grantaire nods, he can feel his throat closing and tears welling up in his eyes. “Yes,” he chokes out when he realizes Joly can’t see him.

He’d spare some time to feel like an idiot for sneaking out of his own apartment but he’s too busy panicking and hoping Enjolras won’t come out soon. Once outside, he starts pacing and biting his fingernails and fuck, he really needs a drink right now. He’s walking up and down the front of the building and doesn’t see Joly until he hears the cheery honking from his car.

Joly asks what’s wrong exactly once but Grantaire just shakes his head. They spend the ride listening to Joly’s Katy Perry playlist and though he’s silently freaking out,  Joly’s attempts at singing along _does_ make him feel a bit better. Once they get to the trio’s place he throws himself on the couch next to Bossuet and Joly follows, squeezing him in the middle. He can tell Joly already gave them a heads up, because Musichetta is in the kitchen making tea and Bossuet is wrapping a comforter around his shoulders.

He looks towards him then, lips turning slightly up at the sight of Bossuet in the Spiderman pajamas Grantaire bought as a joke that he insists on wearing anyway. He’s silently eyeing the cupboard where Musichetta keeps the wine when she stands in front of him with a cup of tea, interrupting his musings with a sharp call of his name.

Joly grabs his arm while Bossuet leans into his side. His three amazing friends. “Talk to us.”

“Enjolras found his soul mate.”

Their reactions are simultaneous, “What,” —“Oh R” —“But I thought he didn’t even have a mark.”

“He does,” Grantaire is greatly familiar with Enjolras’ colorful array of tones on his chest, thanks to the countless times he’s tried recreating it on paper while never getting it quite right. “He just doesn’t like to talk about it.”

The three share horrified glances and his heart sinks a little bit more, just seeing how in sync they are thanks to their own bond. Grantaire recalls the soul mate, Combeferre, a tall and lanky man, with short chestnut colored hair and a pointed nose. They’d looked good standing there together. Similar, not like they were related more like they came from the same place, they fit. It’s a terribly disquieting thought. Grantaire always knew it would end with Enjolras, how it could not, eventually? But he’d gotten complacent and comfortable and this is still a punch to the gut.

“What did he say about it?” Musichetta asks but Grantaire just shakes his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can I stay here? I’ll need to find an apartment,” he asks quietly.

“Yes of course, as long as you like,” says Joly.

“I guess I’ll need to get my stuff. Someone will have to water the plants, god knows Enjolras won’t remember.” His eyes are itching; he can feel them start to water and tries to blink it away.

“I’ll text Courfeyrac,” Bossuet offers.

“And Enjolras has this presentation for class in a few days,” quiet tears are streaming down his cheeks, he wipes them away and they keep coming, “tell Courf to make sure he doesn’t skip out on lunch that day or he’ll be grumpy the whole time.”

“And-a-and he, he’ll need to put away the laundry. Someone has to do it,” he babbles the words out, feeling a tight pain in his chest. He wishes Enjolras was there to hold him close, to make things better.

Someone grabs him by the shoulders and he’s shoved into someone’s lap, probably Joly’s. He can feel multiple hands at his back and he can’t hold back the tears then. He feels empty and alone, despite being surrounded by people. He lets out a whimper, burying further into Joly.

It’s unclear how much time passes, with someone stroking his hair softly and their quiet murmurs it’s easier to stay still and just concentrate on breathing, in and out, in and out. He feels weary and tired, upset with the way his day has been. Eventually, he wears himself out and dozes off.

When he comes to, Musichetta’s peering down at him from where he’s resting his head next to her legs. “Hey,” she tells him, quietly rubbing circles into his back.

“We made a fort!” two other voices declare at the same time. True enough, there’s a pillow fort in the middle of their tiny living room, complete with sheets and everything, Bossuet’s head sticking out of it. “Want to watch a movie?”

They end up all four of them cuddled in the fort watching TV for a few hours. He’s not really paying attention but the background noise is soothing as he nestles in between Bossuet and Musichetta. It’s mid-afternoon when the first call comes in. He goes stiff when he hears the ringtone and his friends tense beside him.

Grantaire stares at the phone with Enjolras’ name and a picture of them, Enjolras smiling at the camera and Grantaire in the background smiling at him. It lights up and Grantaire wants to answer so badly but hesitates. It’s one thing to expect what’s going to happen and another is to actually go through it. And he knows exactly what will happen, Enjolras will be nice about it, conflicted even. He’ll want to stay friends and he’ll be an amazing one like he is with everyone. But as long as Grantaire hasn’t heard the words yet he can pretend his heart isn’t shattered and that Enjolras will be waiting up for him to get home.

Fuck it. “I need a cigarette,” he declares, standing abruptly to march towards the kitchen, straining to get on his toes and reach towards the top of the cabinets which Musichetta uses as a hiding place, he has to get on the counter but reaches the pack of cigarettes stored there. 

“Betrayal!” yells Joly from the living room with a clear sight of the kitchen.

“It’s just for emergencies!” Musichetta grumbles, since she knows she’s been caught out.

Bossuet gets up, shaking his head as he goes to Grantaire and takes the cigarette he was about to light out of his hands. Grantaire has half a mind to punch him, but he’s dissuaded when his friend laughs it off and gets him a beer from the fridge.

He goes back to the living room, beer in hand. The phone keeps ringing every few minutes for almost an hour. The boys pretend not to even hear it but Musichetta, whose head rests on his shoulder as they rest in the living room floor, keeps side eyeing him.

Eventually the ringing stops and doesn’t start again. He receives a text right after.

**Have some assignments to review, staying at Courfs tonight. You ok?  Love you**

Grantaire chokes up and starts crying again. Musichetta grabs the phone from him and frowns.

“He didn’t tell you to leave, did he? You haven’t even talked about it,” she says, spot on.

“He doesn’t know I saw them,” he mutters, wondering if he should’ve gone to Éponine who would’ve had him passed out flat by now.

“Doing what?” Bossuet finally asks, indignant.

“Just— he showed up at the door and they didn’t even talk and Enjolras told him to leave. They didn’t say it but I knew what it was. Enjolras met his soul mate,” he looks at them with wide tear-filled eyes. “I knew who he was the moment he opened the door. Not just the staring but, it’s like you guys, you can just look at person and tell, they get lost in each other like no one else is around.” He almost chokes again as he explains, “I was in the same room and they never even knew I was in the apartment.”

Joly hugs him from behind but Musichetta is still frowning. “You can’t just assume Enjolras wants you out of his life Grantaire, you have to talk to him!”

“Soul mates belong together,” he snaps, “that’s how it works.”

“You’ve been together for 5 years,” Bossuet argues fretfully, “he’s not just going to dump you and hit up this other guy.”

“No”, Grantaire agrees, “he’ll be all nice about it and make sure were friends, probably even let me stay in the apartment for months on end. I’m not sticking around for their magical bonding sessions and getting to know each other bull shit. I’m not that much of a masochist.” He grabs a comforter and starts pulling at a loose string, “and it’s only been three years,” he murmurs.

Joly, who’s been quiet all of this time sighs heavily and grabs the phone from where Musichetta is still holding it before shoving it at R’s chest. “ _Talk to him,_ ” his eyes are serious and that’s so unusual that R can’t help but listen.

**_Im fine. @ studio talk tomorrow._ **

He hesitates but in the end he adds,

**_Love u too_ **

*****

The next morning Joly takes him back home in his tiny van. Joly loves his car. It’s sort of the unofficial Amis ride except no one’s allowed to eat, sleep or have sex in it. (“I mean it,” Joly once told a smirking Bahorel when he held out his hand for the keys. “I have a black light and I _will_ be checking!”).

He finds Enjolras sitting at their table, a sandwich being ignored in front of him.

“Thought I wouldn’t see you until later,” Grantaire says, his voice gruff.

“Got homesick,” Enjolras looks miserable and Grantaire hates it and mostly he hates himself for making it all about him. He knows Enjolras cares; this can’t be easy for him.

Taking a seat Grantaire scoots close and grabs his hand. Enjolras’ palms are sweaty and his eyes are bloodshot, he must not have slept at all last night.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

His head jerks back in surprise, “You do?”

“Yes, you found your soul mate.”

Enjolras is visibly startled, giving him an incredulous stare before slowly nodding. “Technically he found me.”

“E, this isn’t easy but don’t think I don’t understand,” he says quickly, “you’ve found your soul mate and now you need some time to get to know them and explore that relationship.” It makes something lurch inside him but he has to say it.

Enjolras stares at him, eyebrows drawn together. “Wait, what?”

"We always knew this was going to happen—"

“ _We_ did, did we?” Enjolras grits out and lets go of him, his hands in fists.

Grantaire winces. “Can’t you see I’m trying to make this easier?”

“Yes I see how simple and clean cut you’re trying to make breaking up with me seem.”

“I’m not breaking up with you.”

Enjolras stands in a huff, “Then what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m letting you go!” R stands too, He slaps his hand against the table, detesting how helpless he feels when Enjolras won’t fucking _listen_. “You have to be—”

“I don’t _have_ to anything.”

“You’re being fucking stubborn for no good reason!” He was trying. He wanted to be able to give this to Enjolras but he wasn’t making it easy.

“You’re my fucking reason!”

Grantaire pauses. “I’ll be fine Enjolras, I’ll get by,” he says softly, lying through his teeth. His body might get by if Joly has anything to say about it but Grantaire recognizes he’s nothing once Enjolras isn’t in his life. Everything will crumble around him and he knows it.

A wounded sound ripped from Enjolras’ chest as though his heart was breaking from the strain. “I know you’ll be fine, but I won’t.”

Grantaire jerks back, surprised by his words.

 “I-I need you Grantaire. I can’t imagine being here,” he gestures around them, “or going about my day or sleeping when you’re not there anymore. Please?” he asks reaching his hand.

Grantaire grabs it without thought, letting Enjolras pull him close.

He takes a careful breath, relieved when Enjolras hugs him tight and doesn’t let go. They stay a few minutes just swaying together in the middle of the room.

“I don’t want to know him, or seal the bond or anything.” Enjolras says to his ear as his head rests on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I just want this. You and me, just like this.”

It’s like a siren call to Grantaire, everything he wants. He holds on tighter and pretends that nothing else matters. For this moment, he can dream that they’ll spend forever holding each other just like this.

They can wait until tomorrow to shatter the illusion.

*

It’s a pen, the thing Combeferre gave to Enjolras.

Grantaire finds it on the coffee table, just sitting there innocently as if it didn’t almost destroy their lives just a few days ago. Grantaire doesn’t really know what to feel about it. On the one hand, it’s just sitting there, if Enjolras was secretly pinning about it he would have hiding it better, wouldn’t he? On the other hand, it’s _there_ , clear as day, part of their surroundings and everyday life as if it were as important to Enjolras as their shared books on the bookcase or the gaudy purple lamp Courfeyrac bought him years ago.

He picks it up like it’s about to explode, the tip of two fingers barely holding on to it. It’s a fancy pen but no other real use to it, it’s obvious why the man left it though. There’s an engraving depicting a small medical symbol and the name for one of the clinics near the Musain.

Was this guy a doctor? Seriously? Of course Enjolras’ soul mate, his meant to be, was out saving lives while Grantaire played with paint on a stick for a living. He probably went on missions with Doctors without borders and saved children from malnutrition and farted pizza or something. He and Enjolras would soon join forces and save the planet and the puppies and would live happily ever after.

Yeah, Grantaire really needed a drink or two.

“R!” the call comes from further into the apartment and makes Grantaire drop the devil tool with a loud clank on the wooden table.

“Have you seen my planer?”

Grantaire frowns, “The brown one?”

“No,” he replies “the black one.”

Enjolras organizational system is hilarious because he has so many things to do, he tries to keep up with it all but usually fails at the things he puts to the side, like his work picnics. But he’s always scribbling on those things and they’re never out of his sight.

“Have you looked under your big pile of papers?” he asks turning the corner to enter the makeshift home office Enjolras created out of a small room. Enjolras is crouching on the floor looking in his briefcase. Grantaire takes a moment to appreciate the curve of his ass in those fitted jeans he likes to wear so much. He glances towards his paper filled desk and Grantaire follows his gaze.

A particular pile catches his eyes and he frowns, “Weren’t you guys supposed to turn those in yesterday?” he says referring to a permit to use a public park for a rally.

Enjolras blanches and hurries towards the papers, taking them in hand and checking them over.

“I completely forgot,” he says in disbelief and Grantaire can share the sentiment. Enjolras forgot dates and the occasional favorite color but he did not forget about his causes.

“Did you forget about Éponine’s birthday too?” he clearly has, by the way his eyes widen even more. It’s really unusual to see Enjolras so frazzled. With a sigh Grantaire takes his hand and guides him towards their bedroom.

“Get changed,” he has to struggle a bit to grab the papers from his other hand but Enjolras gives in. “I’ll handle this, you handle your excuse for not getting her a present.”

He moves to leave the bedroom and call Jehan for some help with the papers when Enjolras calls his name.

He’s standing there and he just looks small and confused but smiles at Grantaire anyway.

“Thank you,” he says. Grantaire walks back and gives him a lingering kiss on the cheek. Enjolras looks on, grateful. Ridiculously so if you ask Grantaire, he’s the one who should be thankful Enjolras is still there at all.

The party is in full swing once they get to Éponine’s place. It’s a small and run down one bedroom apartment that has somehow managed to fit enough people for a crowded party. Éponine knows everybody and between her and Gavroche they could probably own the city by now, but she’s not really one for inviting strangers into her home. The music is loud and harsh in such a small space, the bass pulsing through Grantaire’s body as soon as he enters. He spots Bahorel doing shots and Jehan smoking something on the couch before he sees her dancing wildly in the middle of the room.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Enjolras who’s barely passed through the door and is already looking like he’s afraid he might catch something. Enjolras nods at him and takes out his phone, probably texting Courfeyrac.

Grantaire leaves him to his own devices heading straight towards the birthday girl. Without waiting he snakes his arms around her waist and leans in, whispering in her ear, “What’s a guy got to do to get with a girl like you?”

She strains her head back and grins widely, “Not be gagging for blonde revolutionaries for starters.”

He throws his head back and laughs as he turns her around. Éponine is one of his favorite people. She’s always direct and _alive_ , no matter how much shit life throws at her.

“What’s with the crowd?” he asks once they’re looking at each other.

“Met this guy a couple of weeks ago, and then his soul mate.” She shrugs lightly but he can tell it’s a bigger deal then she’s letting on. “I figured I wouldn’t have to see them suck face with a place full of people.”

Grantaire frowns in discontent. “Why didn’t you just blow them off?”

She shrugs again. He knows her well enough to guess why; she likes the guy too much to not want him there. Grantaire can sympathize, it’s the kind of thing he did himself once upon a time, try to be in the same place as Enjolras just so he could stare at him from across the room and resent whomever he was talking too. It was better than not having him there at all.

“Come on,” she pulls him in tighter and starts dancing to the beat, he quickly follows her rhythm. “It’s your job to distract me from all the bullshit,” she yells in his ear just as someone shoves a shot of something into his open hand. It’s thanks to endless nights of practice that he doesn’t spill it all over himself as he accepts it appreciatively.

“I can do that.”

They dance for a while, sweating and playfully grinding in tune with the music. A few people try to get closer and Éponine lets them while Grantaire just laughs them off. He looks up every few minutes, his gaze always drawn like a magnet towards Enjolras. He always finds Enjolras in the same spot staring off into space and looking so naturally sexy it was ridiculous. He can’t remember a time where Enjolras was among a large group of people and he wasn’t interacting with anyone, he thrived on hearing other people’s stories (or challenging their opinions) and now he was just standing there.

“What’s going on?” Éponine follows his gaze and cocks her head, “What’s his problem?”

“He’s been acting weird all week,” he tells her as he spins her effortlessly with his left hand and catches her with his right.

“Yeah I’ll bet,” she answers as she turns back to him, “Musichetta told me, you know.”

He looks back and Éponine’s staring at him, she holds his gaze with a scowl before grabbing him by the shoulders and stopping their movement. “He made a choice Grantaire, you have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.” Her shrewd eyes bore into his pleading him to understand. He gets what she’s not saying.

Éponine and her soul mate, Montparnasse, have this special relationship in which he comes around every few months and she threatens to stab him. After spending most of her adolescence trying to get away from him she finally cut all ties from her family, including her soul mate. She wanted out and he didn’t.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” he reminds her. Of course he trusts Enjolras to make his own choices but he also knows it’s just a matter of time before he wants to get to know his soul mate, after which they’ll fall in love and live happily ever after. Deluding himself isn’t going to stop the pain when it happens.

Éponine rolls her eyes, wisely giving up on the subject. “Just go dance with your boy toy you stubborn shit.”

Grantaire leaves her with a quick hug. Her faint smell of vanilla goes with him towards Enjolras.

“Hey,” Enjolras wasn’t paying attention and snaps his head to Grantaire. “Um, hey.”

Rolling his eyes he takes the blonde by the hand. “Come with me.”

Around them bodies are pushing hard and he hurriedly grabs Enjolras’ elbow so they don’t get separated along the way. They end up on Éponine’s small balcony, it’s just a rectangular stepstool but at least they have some privacy.

Grantaire leans against the railing and pulls Enjolras with him, gently resting his forehead against his. From so close he can see the long blonde eyelashes when he closes his eyes.

“You need to go see him,” Grantaire tells him. Because possibly he has a masochistic streak or the worst judgment ever when it comes to taking care of himself.

Or maybe he just really wants to see his boyfriend happy.

Enjolras huffs in annoyance. “Not this again! We’ve been doing _fine._ ”

“We’ve been playing at normal and you know it.” He lifts his other hand towards the blonde locks and plays with them. Enjolras leans back and looks at him with trepidation.

“You’ve been nervous and distracted the last few days. You know it’s because you left this unfinished.”

“No,” Enjolras denies, “it’s not that.” His feet shift as he guiltily averts his gaze.

Grantaire’s confused. “Then what is it?”

Enjolras groans in annoyance before reaching towards the collar of his nauseatingly expensive t-shirt and pulling it down just enough to show a chunk of the mark on his chest. There’s nothing particularly different about it except for a tinge of redness to his skin that’s clearly from scratching as Enjolras starts doing so just as he lowers the collar.

“Ever since the other day it’s been itching a lot. It’s distracting that’s all. I’ll get some cream or something.” He continues while rubbing his skin.

“Would you stop ignoring this?” Grantaire asks with an impatient huff.

Enjolras pulls away and Grantaire feels it to his bones. He’s embarrassed at the needy noise he makes, thankfully Enjolras doesn’t seem to hear it. He’s at the other side of the miniature balcony running his hand against his locks in exasperation, an action he likes to think of as the ‘Grantaire you are driving me crazy’ signature move.

“Would you stop pushing this?” Enjolras says in an exasperated tone.

Since he’s always been surrounded by good friends, it took a lot of time dating him for Grantaire to understand where Enjolras’ issues with abandonment come from, and how losing his soul mate is a big part of that.

Maybe Grantaire _should_ just stop pushing. But pushing Enjolras is what he does, not doing it goes against everything he knows. He honestly thinks it will do Enjolras some good to talk to his soul mate or at the very least acknowledge his existence.

“I’m worried about you,” he figures honesty might get him somewhere. “You’ve barely slept all week and you’ve been staring off into nothing. Couldn’t you-”

“I don’t want to talk to him!”

“Then don’t!” Grantaire says, fed up.

Enjolras crosses his arms against his chest and looks at him suspiciously. “Don’t?”

“How about you go to a specialist?”

Enjolras actually pouts, he hates soul bond doctors. Normally after a soul pair finds each other they go to a soul bond specialist to get examined and put in the system. “They’ll ask for him to be there.”

“So we’ll ask him to be there, different rooms or to go in after, whatever.”

Enjolras looks down at his shoes and starts shifting from side to side. “You think he’ll agree to that?”

Grantaire scoffs, “I’m pretty sure he’s not the one who wants nothing to do with his soul mate.” 

Enjolras looks guilty for a moment, before sighing and loosening his arms.  “Nothing has to change, right?”

The way he regards Grantaire, like he’s going to be the one to save him, makes him both incredibly giddy and nervous as fuck. He’s going to help Enjolras through this and he won’t screw it up.

“Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

*

He asks Bahorel what it’s like one day. They’re pretty drunk and Jehan is giggling in the corner of Bahorel and Feuilly’s lounge. It’s a pretty known fact among their group that despite sharing a splash of amber in their left thigh, Bahorel isn’t attracted to Feuilly but they’re in each other’s pockets anyway.

“It’s like,” Bahorel sits on the couch, legs spread and head tilted towards the ceiling, “it’s like I know what he’s feeling even if he’s at the other end of the city, if he’s happy, or pissed drunk.” He laughs nervously, “and sometimes I know the most random things, like I know today he ate sushi but he never told me that I just know, you know?”

Grantaire nods along, but no, not really. “That must be amazing,” he sighs, awed by the idea and goaded by his inebriation.

“It can be,” Bahorel says, “sometimes. Other times it’s no privacy, anxiety if you’re separated too long. Mostly it’s feeling that someone has your back.” He tips his head towards Grantaire, “you don’t need a soul mate for that.”

Grantaire laughs harshly, “That’s easy to say when you’ve got it.” He playfully shoves at Bahorel’s arm, “who’d lug you around otherwise?”

Bahorel grins drunkenly and adds, “Well you’re here aren’t you?”

*

 

“I should go.”

“ _No_ , I should go.”

“Seriously, it’s best if I’m there.”

“No see, I deeply disagree with that.”

“ _Guys_!” Enjolras interrupts, pinching his lips together and glaring at them.

Courfeyrac turns away from staring intently at Grantaire to address Enjolras. “Are you seriously thinking about letting him do this?”

“I really rather preferred if you wouldn’t,” he tells Grantaire with a nervous expression.

“Someone has to explain this,” Grantaire insists. Grantaire’s logic is this, now that Enjolras met his soul mate it’s just a matter of time before they gravitate towards each other, that’s how it works. Feuilly punched Bahorel in the stomach the first time they met and look at them now. The sooner those two meet the sooner he’ll know how this will play out, and how long he really has with Enjolras.

“Any one of us can go!” Courfeyrac says, feet bouncing before he pulls Grantaire aside and whispers, “don’t do this to yourself R.”

“I just want to talk to the guy,” which really means _measure him up, see if he’s up to standards_.

Courfeyrac points his index finger at Grantaire, eyes tightening. “I’m coming with you then.”

“Do you have a Combeferre on staff?”

Both their heads turn in sync. Enjolras is on the phone, playing nervously with the pen on his other hand.

“No thank you,” he’s using his polite voice, “Can you just leave him a message from Dr. Joly?” he quickly rattles off a phone number before saying goodbye.

“I guess that’ll do,” Courfeyrac snickers.

“Joly? Really?”

Enjolras has that same remorseful expression he’s been wearing on his face for days now, its eating Grantaire up to see him so upset. 

“He’s my doctor isn’t he? It seemed to make sense.”

“He’s a medical student,” Grantaire feels the need to add, but Enjolras just glares at him with no heat.

The next day they go to a specialist Joly recommends from the hospital he works at. As they wait for the man in the examination room Enjolras is filling out papers, so Grantaire takes the opportunity to talk to Joly.

With an overt glance towards Enjolras to ensure he won’t listen he asks, “What was he like?”

Joly sighs, “I don’t know, polite? It was a three minute phone call.”

The truth is that Grantaire is more than a little curious about this Combeferre. He tried looking him up online but all he found were a couple of social sites with really rigorous settings and his name in the website from where he works, not one picture included. He can add polite now, maybe not a raging asshole as well since he agreed to do this without getting to see or talk to Enjolras. Grantaire doesn’t know if he could be so generous if he were in Combeferre shoes.

“So he’s coming in later?”

“He’s just down the hall,” Joly tells him distractedly as he inspects Enjolras’ chart.

When the doctor comes in, Enjolras insists they both stay. He makes Enjolras take off his shirt and lay in a chair like at the dentist’s office. First, he watches the mark, then he takes a swab and then he watches it again, this time using some sort of machine with what looks like long binoculars and a keypad.

Enjolras is shivering by the time the doctor injects something into the mark and lets him out his shirt on. Grantaire puts his arm over Enjolras’ shoulder and he smiles at him gratefully.

“Alright Mr. Enjolras, next we proceed to the lab to take a closer look and watch for swelling or other signs of reaction. Meanwhile,” the doctor takes out a pack of pamphlets and hands them to Enjolras, “you can read these carefully before we start.”

Enjolras glances at them, affording Grantaire a look, they’re pamphlets that say things like ‘Ready to seal the deal?’ and ‘Finding your Soul Mate: What’s Next?’ all on the right way to seal a bond. Enjolras scoffs and leaves them on the doctor’s desk before following the doctor out. Grantaire casually lifts them and silently thanks Éponine for showing him how to do it without being seen. 

They can’t follow into the lab; Enjolras gives him a quick peck on the lips before going in.

“I’ll be right outside,” he tells him. Just as the door closes he turns towards the doctor’s office while Joly follows behind him, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m only going to take a peak.”

His friend is not amused. “I can’t stop you from going in there or doing something stupid. But you _will_ tell him who you are, or so help me Grantaire, I will throw away all of your cigarettes!”

“You wouldn’t.” Grantaire glares at him.

“Just watch me,” Joly says.

“Fine whatever, what can he do anyway?”

“Pretty sure he’s going to punch you in the face,” Joly says cheerfully, and pulls him from the hallway towards the office. “But don’t worry, at least you’re already in a hospital.”

*

Combeferre doesn’t hate him, which has Grantaire more than a little freaked out. He takes Grantaire’s intrusion into his examination room, and the followed _hey, I’m your soul mate’s boyfriend_ in stride. In fact, all he does is smile mysteriously and respond with a _Nice to meet you_.

Who does that?

Maybe the guy has no energy to waste in judging Grantaire, because he looks like he maybe hasn’t slept in days and there’s a tension to his shoulders that says a lot about how much he isn’t enjoying this experience. Yet his face is pure calm. Grantaire’s heard about these mythical emotionally stable people but he never thought he’d meet one in person.

“Is he here?” Combeferre asks after a pause, which is really just Grantaire awkwardly admiring his tattoo sleeves since they have the poor guy waiting on the doctor in a drafty room with only a white t-shirt on. Up close he’s even hotter than Grantaire thought, like something out of a catalogue. He and Enjolras together would look like someone at a modeling agency handpicked them for each other.

“Yes, he’s in the lab. I wanted you to know that it’s not personal. Enjolras is just, he’s just a bit gun shy that’s all,” Grantaire stammers, because apparently he isn’t capable of thinking before he speaks. Gun shy?  What does that even mean?

“Right,” Combeferre says, raising his eyebrows. “Enough to not come here himself?”

“Just give him time,” Grantaire squeaks, “he’ll come around, to talking at least.”

“And meanwhile you’re here to interrogate me,” he teases with a smirk on his lips.

“Nah, I’m just this friendly.”

Combeferre doesn’t look convinced, and Grantaire leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and says, “Okay, fair enough. I need to ask, can you… do you not feel the bond either?”

He looks down, chin lowering to his chest. “No, I’m afraid not,” Combeferre says wearily.

Grantaire rubs his hands on his pants as he wonders how inappropriate it would be to ask what happened, but he refrains. Instead he says, “So… what kind of doctor are you?”

“Not one yet, just a medical student,” he informs him while trying to suppress a yawn. “Sorry,” Combeferre smiles shyly, “I had rounds last night.”

Grantaire sort of wants to thank him for coming anyway while simultaneously taping his cute yawn for Enjolras to see. Look, Enjolras, he’s like a sleepy kitty, will you talk to him now?

“That’s fine. So you obviously work, how about volunteering?”

Combeferre shrugs. “Sometimes,” he says casually.

“Doing what?”

“At the animal hospital, some days.”

Grantaire groans wholeheartedly, hands over his face. “You’re another freaking do-gooder aren’t you?” At least that will sell well with their fearless leader, maybe he should be writing these down.

Combeferre smirks at him, amused. “Can I ask the questions now?”

Grantaire shifts in his seat. He’s reluctant to talk about Enjolras here, mostly because Enjolras has no idea he came to speak to the man. Then again it’s not like Grantaire doesn’t spend his time spewing about Enjolras’ virtues to anyone who will listen.

But Combeferre doesn’t ask about Enjolras. “Why do you have paint on your sweatshirt?”

“I-,” Grantaire splutters, confused by the spin on his question. “I paint.”

“Oh,” says Combeferre as he adjusts his glasses and pushes them up his face. “Would I have seen your work anywhere?”

Grantaire shrugs, his face heating up from the attention. “There’s some of my stuff at the East end gallery.”

“Wow, aren’t they very exclusive?” Combeferre asks, “You must be very good.”

Grantaire glances away towards the door, feet shuffling. “I’m not that great.”

He hums noncommittally. Grantaire looks back and finds his easy smile gone, replaced by the downturn of his lips.

“What’s he like?” he finally asks in a quiet tone.

“Pigheaded,” Grantaire says, because it’s the truth. He earns a small snort from the other man. “Passionate, smart, caring, really caring. He’s not a bad guy. Like I said, just give it time.”

Combeferre smiles sincerely and says, “Thank you.”

That’s all the time they have for getting acquainted before another doctor appears in the small room and motions to put something on Combeferre. Grantaire stutters a goodbye and scrambles out before he’s forced to see Enjolras’ mark on Combeferre’s chest.

And goddammit, Grantaire likes the guy. Enjolras deserved someone amazing, of course, but there’s no denying how Grantaire was secretly hoping for the guy to be a jerk. That way he could hide his head under the sand with Enjolras until this all went away. He can’t do that to them though, they deserve to know one another.

He doesn’t have to walk much to find Enjolras in the waiting room, sipping something from a paper cup.

“Doctor told me to wait about an hour so they’re finished with us both. Where were you?”

Grantaire shrugs as Enjolras pulls him down to sit side by side, he’ll explain later.

Forty-five minutes later they’re leaving, with the indication to come back for results in a week and the request for more tests from the doctor, “If we could just get a scan with both of you together” and a resounding “No” from Enjolras.

They’re almost at the exit, Joly waving cheerfully from the nurses’ station, when he catches movement in the corner of his eye. Combeferre comes out from another hallway and lands right in front of their way to the exit. Enjolras goes stiff and from the looks of it Combeferre too, like they’re both waiting for the other to pounce.

“Can you give me a minute?” Enjolras asks Grantaire, not taking his eyes away from Combeferre. The hospital pages someone, the nurses are talking in the background and Grantaire’s heart does it’s best to thump right out of his chest. Reluctantly, he nods and leaves them alone, going towards the nurses’ station where at least he has a clear view, even if he can’t hear their words. Joly squeezes his shoulder once he gets there.

He watches as they have a discussion, Enjolras is calm and Combeferre seems fine as well. It looks like a normal, completely casual conversation if it wasn’t for the way Enjolras is ringing his fingers and Combeferre keeps fidgeting with his glasses. Combeferre smiles slightly and he watches as Enjolras’ lips twitch in response. They nod at each other and

Combeferre quickly exits while Enjolras turns towards him 

“So?” Grantaire barely waits for him to approach.

“He was very understanding,” says Enjolras, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the exit.

“Understanding about?” he insists.

“About how I’m in a relationship and have no interest in sealing our bond or doing more tests.”

Grantaire stops in his tracks. “But I- he’s perfect for you!” he splutters.

Enjolras raises his eyebrow, “And you know that just by looking at him?”

Grantaire shakes his head, keeping quiet, vowing to explain once they get home. Enjolras spins them towards the exit again, leaning down and pressing his head to Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’m not ready,” he explains, alluding to Combeferre.

He made a mistake, Grantaire thinks, in approaching Combeferre like this. Knowing the guy doesn’t make it easier. He considers it all the way home in the metro, holding Enjolras’ hand, and he thinks it while they curl up on the couch and he waits for his mind to catch up with him.

 

*

Grantaire goes to tell Enjolras that dinner is ready and finds him asleep, head resting on his arms. He’s sitting at his desk, books pilling over it so much it seems like they’re going to fall down any time now. In front of him rests an encyclopedia, the kind that looks like an old phone book, long and thick. Grantaire snorts as he wonders what Enjolras was looking at. Careful not to disturb him, he creeps towards the desk and reads over his shoulder.

_Once verified by a certified professional, the legal ramifications of a sealed soul bond result in the   immediate registration of the pair or group as a beneficiary and designated as the primary decision-making power of the corresponding soul mate,_ _in absence of_ _issue and legal relinquish of the bond._

_Legal separation of a bond_ _is very difficult_ _to attain because of the subjectivity and determination of the best interest clause._ _Although the ramifications can be extreme, physically severing the bond has been a known to happen to ensure legally dissolving the bond by sanction of the court._

_Most methods are banned thanks to the high mortality rate and mental damage, severing the psychological manifestations of the link but at a high cost to the person doing the severing and so are considered antiquated and dangerous. Medical pills can help impair the bond, but most be issued by a certified medical provisional chosen by a court of law._

He backs out quietly, closing the door behind him.

 

*

He tries to find a way to subtly bring up the subject again but he’s thwarted every time. He’ll put on some indie movie about lost soul mates finding each other and Enjolras turns it into a heavy petting make out session. He tries pointing out guys that are slim and tall with glasses to ease into the subject, Enjolras agrees on their attractiveness and then distracts R by starting a debate on the impact of fashion trends in current society. Obviously he’s not winning points on deviousness until, by some stroke of luck, they run into Combeferre at a book store.

Grantaire’s browsing through the new additions in the philosophy section while simultaneously holding on to Enjolras so he won’t go off on his own in search for another resource. The extra room is exploding with books and his latest piece is taking its toll, not on Enjolras per se but on Grantaire’s back. He can’t carry another stack up the stairs of their apartment without toppling over.

He reaches for a book on ancient philosophy, half an eye on Enjolras who’s pulling towards the other side, when a hand bumps into his own. He looks up to find Combeferre, they were going for the same book.

“Sorry,” Grantaire says straight away.

Combeferre smiles sheepishly and looks down at their hands. Grantaire flinches back when he remembers he left off his cuff this morning because it was itching, and his gray sweater is on Enjolras who got cold in the harsh air conditioner of the store.

He longs to pull down invisible sleeves and hide but Combeferre doesn’t comment, or even look at him pitiful, just starts in surprise a little and then says _that’s fine_ as he pulls back his arm.

Enjolras, from behind his shoulder, says, “Oh, hello,” in a staggered tone.

“Hello, how are you?” he glances between them, “both of you?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Enjolras is practically hiding behind Grantaire, a deep frown on his face. Grantaire’s reminded of a scared puppy cowering behind his owners legs.

“Fine thanks,” he gives Enjolras a sidelong glance. “Enjolras is just looking for material on how to best dismantle the patriarchy.”

That surprises a laugh out of Combeferre, his eyes shining. “Is that so?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes as he shuffles a bit forward, relaxing about his apprehension when it comes to the Cause. “I’m doing an article on gender roles for my internship, just looking through some things.”

“Oh well,” Combeferre produces a pen and a small piece of paper almost out of thin air, writing down on it promptly. “I might recommend a few if your still looking, just to offer a few perspectives.”

Enjolras blinks before taking it. “Thanks, I’ll have a look.”

Grantaire smirks in amusement when Enjolras places the post it shaped paper in front of his face to read. “What about you?” he asks Combeferre, “what are you looking for?”

“Oh I enjoy perusing bookstores, I always find something new.”

“Really, so you read philosophy and feminism theory for pleasure?”

A flush sneaks across his cheeks when he answers, “Yes.”

Grantaire can’t help but glimpse at Enjolras, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows hoping the blonde will understand the silent _See? he reads on philosophy and equality for fun!_ Grantaire is sending his way. He does, and if Grantaire’s reading the way he glances down at the book in his hands right, it’s a sardonic _so do you._

“Hey if you’re interested in this kind of stuff my friend Éponine is doing a piece at the community theater fair, you should check it out.”

“Oh?” he says, leaning forward. “Is she? I helped plan the same event last year.”

Enjolras eyes widen as he mirrors Combeferre. “That was you? Last year was their best so far, it got a lot of good responses.”

Combeferre shrugs. “It was really fun actually, I like organizing.”

The three stand there, awkwardly thinking of something to say until Combeferre interrupts the silence. “Um, anyway,” he grabs another copy of the book they first went for, fidgeting with the cover, “I should get going.”

They say goodbye, and Enjolras stares after him before shaking his head.

It isn’t until they’re out the store that Grantaire realizes they’d never stopped holding hands.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” is the first thing Grantaire says the next morning when he comes out to find Enjolras using the stove in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Enjolras smiles at him in the oversized t-shirt he slept in next to Grantaire, It’s one of the most magnificent things Grantaire has ever seen. He presses himself against Enjolras, his hand finding its way towards Enjolras’ hair as he gently maneuvers him away from anything flammable.

“But, I was making you an omelet,” he pouts.

“I’ll handle it,” he steers Enjolras towards the counter overlooking the kitchen, settling him into his seat with a kiss to his forehead. That’s when he notices Enjolras hands twitching and the almost empty pot of coffee on the counter.

“Did you even sleep last night?” he asks as he goes to save their breakfast.

“No,” he mutters from behind Grantaire, “we have a scheduling conflict and we don’t have enough people to cover both events.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Bad preparation on my part,” he can’t see but he can practically hear Enjolras glower, “there’s just been so much going on.”

“Maybe you need some extra help in your little planning committee,” his eyes flick to Enjolras looking for a reaction.

“Are you offering?” Enjolras _beams_ , making his chest tighten a bit in shame as he snorts.

“No, I’m really not.”

Enjolras sets his glare on him, thankfully softening once he places food in front of him.

“Actually I was thinking you could invite Combeferre to one of the meetings, see if he can help.”

Enjolras stops stuffing his face, chewing deliberately while scrutinizing Grantaire from across the kitchen counter. When Enjolras swallows but still doesn’t say anything Grantaire continues, “Think about it. You’re great at flashes of insight, oh and the motivating? Yeah you’re amazing but you don’t always heed to deadlines. Courf is great at rallying everybody but you need someone to help you plan and deliberate, God knows no one in Les Amis has any common sense. Come on, just give the guy a chance.”

Enjolras leans back on the kitchen stool, arms crossing. “I know it’s what people _do_ , they drop everything for their soul mate, even others they care about. But I _told_ you, I’m not doing that.”

“I believe you, I do.”

“Then why are you still pushing this so hard? Are you trying to find a way to break up?”

“No, no of course not!” Grantaire says, eyes wide. “Come here,” rounding the counter he goes to Enjolras and puts his arms around him from behind, joining his hands at Enjolras’ chest.

“Then tell me why you’re doing this,” he says, sounding pained. He hates hearing that in Enjolras voice.

Grantaire sighs as he thinks of what to say. _Because that’s how it’s suppose to be_ will probably end up with a screaming match and _I have shitty luck so it’s bound to happen_ would go down even worse.

He settles for saying, “Remember how we talked about my parents?”

Enjolras shift in his seat, moving his body to face Grantaire and look him in the eye. “Yes.”

“I can barely remember them but I know how the story goes: how they found each other young, loved, and went crazy together.”

“Having a mental illness does not make them—”

“ _Enjolras_.”

“…Sorry.”

“My point is, I could never understand it. How someone would just leave their kids that way. But now I look at Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta and I think I kind of get it, how they fit so well there couldn’t be one without the other.”

“See that’s what I don’t get.”

“What?”

“That! Thinking that being apart from your soul mate will somehow make you incomplete. I’m not incomplete, Grantaire. I lost someone and it was hard, but what was I supposed to do, just stop existing because my bond to him did?”

“Of course not.”

“So why have you been acting like I’m suddenly missing a huge part of myself that I need to get back? Why can’t you let this go?”

There’s a beat as Grantaire stares at him intently. “Because you loved him once, and I think you miss him.”

Enjolras sighs, grasping tight at Grantaire’s waist. “Did you know that when they first met Bossuet spilled wine all over Musichetta, and she unintentionally offended Joly by sharing his spoon?”

“Yes I knew that. It is both hilarious and irrelevant.”

“How they fit now, it’s not a biological factor, its called love and commitment and a good dose pain killers probably.”

Grantaire makes a _tsk_ sound. “You think you’re funny.”

Enjolras laughs softly, the light sound shooting straight to Grantaire’s core.

“What I mean is, I already have that right here.”

Grantaire’s man enough to admit he almost swoons at the sight of Enjolras looking up at him, heart in his eyes.

Still he doesn’t give up.

“Okay then, how about a friend? You can never get enough of those,” he insists.

“You won’t give up will you?”

“You know me well.”

Enjolras groans, running his hands over his face but Grantaire still catches a glimpse of his features twisting in guilt. All of a sudden Grantaire has an epiphany of why Enjolras’ has been looking so remorseful around him.

“You’re scared you’ll like him aren’t you!” he accuses halfheartedly, mouth curling up in a grin.

“No,” Enjolras responds with an exaggerated pout.

Grantaire laughs. “Come on E. Bahorel and Feuilly are friends. Courf is friends with Margie.”

“Oh please,” he grunts.

“Well, on some days they are. Really, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not scared!”

“All right then,” Grantaire smirks, “prove it.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, finally relenting. “Okay fine, we’ll invite him to a meeting,” he says before pulling Grantaire away from the kitchen.

They settle into the couch, Enjolras’ head on his chest and Enjolras asks, “Now can we stop talking about this and watch my show?”

“How can you even like this, it’s completely historically inaccurate.”

“There’s so much female representation!”

“Yeah right.”

And they cuddle together on the couch. And he’s allowed to kiss Enjolras, to hug him and snuggle close to him. It’s not like usual, not really. Not when he’s wondering how long it’ll last.

 

*

As soon as the door closes behind him Grantaire catches a glimpse of Bahorel’s chair overbalancing and throwing him on to the Musain floor. Bahorel laughs it up, standing and shaking his finger at Grantaire. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Um, meeting?” he gestures the room in a circular motion.

“Yeah, and like ten minutes early, are you dying?”

Grantaire flips him off and waves at everyone else, walking straight towards Enjolras at the end of the room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Enjolras is running his hand over his hair.

“You’re usually not nervous about new members,” Grantaire comments. Enjolras shrugs in response.

“Listen,” Grantaire sighs, feeling a pang of remorse for getting Enjolras to agree. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m making you do this.”

“I can set my own boundaries Grantaire,” Enjolras says and gently kisses his mouth. “I found his number and I called him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sure,” he’s acting like an idiot for worrying so much about something that really has nothing to with him, because it didn’t, right? “I just don’t want to pressure into getting to know him if you’re not ready.”

“You’re not,” Enjolras insists, like it’s just that easy. Maybe it is, maybe Grantaire is making a big deal of something really simple. “We’ll see how it goes, okay?”

Grantaire nods, feeling the tension in his shoulder lift as Enjolras goes to speak with Courfeyrac. They could do this, couldn’t they? Maybe Combeferre could even be in Enjolras’ life without that meaning its over between him and Grantaire. He was trying hard to be brave, to be selfless and understanding and all that corny stuff. It’s what you did when soul mates found each other. But if Enjolras says that’s what he wants, then that’s what he wants, it’s not like Grantaire is taking anything from them by staying, if that’s what Enjolras needs.

Combeferre arrives then, surveying everyone uneasily as he walks into the back room. He smiles wanly at Grantaire when the artist goes to great him.

“Right, everyone this is Combeferre,” Grantaire says, bringing him into the room.

Combeferre nods to the room and R goes around noting everyone’s reaction. Joly and Bossuet are scowling lightly at Combeferre while Éponine shakes her head in Grantaire’s direction. When they get to Enjolras, Combeferre smiles kindly and Enjolras greets him with an awkward twist of his lips before offering the seat next to him. At least he’s trying.

It’s more straightforward as soon as they start talking about official things. Combeferre gives a suggestion for every issue Enjolras brings up, evenly offering his judgment each time. Enjolras blinks at him owlishly, eventually sitting down and leaning back in his chair, listening with rapt attention.

They start what’s practically a conversation between them, Courfeyrac interjecting every other sentence. The three of them are so entranced they don’t even notice everyone else following the conversation with their heads like a tennis match, eyes bouncing from one man to the other. By the time the meeting is half way done Combeferre proposes a counteroffer for something the other two have just said and Enjolras practically gushes, teeming with glee.

“Can you hear me?” Joly interrupts, mockingly waving his hand over Bahorel’s face, “can _I_ hearme?” he says in jest.

They turn to the rest of the table sheepishly. Grantaire refills his glass of wine and brings it slowly to his lips, eyes surveying the scene in front of him. He sits there in a daze as he listens to the group discuss their opinions on the latest cause not even sure what it is they’ve been debating but engrossed nonetheless. Particularly by the way Combeferre will advocate a thought and immediately look sideways towards Enjolras, receiving a small nod. It happens more than once, almost as if planned beforehand.

Not only that, but there’s touching. Not romantic, just a tap on the shoulder , or their knees accidentally touching. He’s not the only one to notice if the various times Enjolras flinches away are to go by, even if he ends up relaxing into another casual touch in the end.

It’s odd to see them work so in sync it’s like they don’t even notice they’re doing it. Enjolras will make a motion and wordlessly, Combeferre will slide a pen into his hand. Combeferre scratches lightly at his chin and Enjolras pushes the water jug closer towards him.

It’s spellbinding, watching them together. Also, kind of hot. Grantaire might just be inappropriately turned on by how in harmony they appear to be. Bossuet and Joly get like that sometimes, except theirs is an amusing sort of interaction, where they giggle like crazy all throughout the meeting, lost in their own world. What makes Grantaire’s mouth water is Combeferre and Enjolras’… intensity, its— yeah it’s hot.

He tunes them out after that, bringing his pencil towards a pile of papers on the table. He notices the way Combeferre rolls a pen through his fingers when he’s thinking, how he speaks in a low commanding tone and  lounges in his rickety little chair while Enjolras sits straight up in his. He notices the way they’re heads are looking at Feuilly as they listen but their knees are angled towards each other and how they laugh almost in unity at someone’s joke, Enjolras tilts his head back and Combeferre’s leaning forward in a shy chuckle. They look good together, fitting together well. It should hurt, but it’s too captivating to really wonder why it doesn’t.

When the meeting draws to a close Grantaire doesn’t even notice, engrossed in the sketch and distracted by the tang of the drink in his mouth. When Combeferre sweeps in next to him he yelps in surprise, face heating at the sound that comes out of his mouth.

Combeferre ignores it, staring avidly at the paper, “That is _remarkable_ ,” he says like it was some amazing new discovery, eyes shining as he smiles kindly.

“Thanks,” he responds, noting how Combeferre’s broad hands are placed near the drawing. Grantaire figures he wants a closer look and slides the piece towards him, earning another twinkle of the eye when Combeferre takes it in. 

Combeferre shyly says, “You know I happened to be near that gallery you mentioned and I saw some of your other works. They’re very impressive.”

“Why would you do that?” Grantaire asks, a bit breathless from surprise.

“I was curious I guess,” Combeferre looks a little shifty as he shrugs the question off. “Uh I should be going.”

“We usually stay for drinks you’re welcome to.”

“Yes, Courfeyrac mentioned that, but I have an early shift tomorrow, maybe another time.”

After saying goodbye Grantaire stares down at the table and then at the piece of paper on top of it. He’d drawn Combeferre smiling down softly and Enjolras looking amusedly at the spectator, at Grantaire, as he found him doing more than once during the meeting.

He scoffs at himself, and goes to refill his drink.

*

Combeferre is remarkably smart.

He’s book smart, that much is obvious, but as time passes Grantaire finds he’s also smart enough to shut up and listen to Éponine when she has a strong opinion on labor laws, smart enough to rely on Courfeyrac when it comes to assigning people to different tasks. He never corrects anyone on facts, not directly, but somehow even Grantaire comes out of meetings knowing which figures were wrong and why. 

He makes a space for Grantaire every time they see each other, asking about his work or bringing up a book he just read. He has a preference for the classics, but when Grantaire mentions any type of Sci-Fi or fantasy novel he listens intently, asking thoughtful questions and giving his opinions. It’s cute.

He comes to every meeting for a couple of months, even the extra ones that are just an excuse for Courfeyrac to bring his board games and use the little pieces to “strategize”. Grantaire now has a series of sketches of Enjolras and Combeferre that go in a linear fashion, starting that first meeting, a space apart and angled towards each other to the last, chairs together and heads bent in a whispered conversation.

All he needed to do was get them in the same room for Enjolras to slowly loosen up about it, but they’re really only interacting at meetings, though Grantaire has caught him making a draft of a text on his phone for Combeferre before erasing it which is a lot more endearing than he could have imagined. 

“So he’s helping out with your volunteer program too? How’d that happen?”

Enjolras grimaces as if wondering that himself. “I’m not sure, I think Jehan, somehow? In any case he’s coming to the youth center. Do you want to come with us?”

Grantaire ponders the idea of seeing them fumble gently around each other versus being lazy on the couch and since he stayed up late last night for another commission the later wins. Besides, he doesn’t want to keep tabs on how their doing, it’s getting kind of exhausting to be around them and wonder where exactly it’s going. 

“I think I’ll stick around here, Éponine’s coming anyway.”

“Oh good, could you tell her that Combeferre figured out we can optimize our time better? We’re going to this group now, while she and Feuilly go to the other tomorrow and I’ll be able to work on the proposal with Courfeyrac and Combeferre will work on the next set of permits.”

Grantaire can’t help but thrust out his chest smugly, saying _I told you so_ with a lift of his eyebrows. Enjolras just swats at his arm as he continues getting ready. A minute later the doorbell rings; he’s expecting Éponine but Courfeyrac is a surprise.

“Oh hey,” Enjolras greets from the couch as he jumps up, “let me get my bag and we can go.”

Éponine comes in while Courfeyrac waits at the door, feet tapping impatiently as he glares at Grantaire.

He looks at Éponine, eyebrows rising to point towards the ceiling. “I’m taking your alcohol,” she shrugs and walks into the kitchen.

Courfeyrac waves her away before turning to Grantaire, eyeing him up and down. 

“So you’re not going? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, you complete idiot,” he huffs.

Grantaire tilts his head. “What?”

“Enjolras isn’t going to let you go without a fight you know.”

Grantaire smiles. “I know”

Courfeyrac inspects him for a minute, hand scratching the back of his head. “Ok, this is weird.”

“I just, I think they both deserve a chance to figure it out on their own.”

“So you’re stepping out of the way?” Courfeyrac asks, put out.

“I promised him I wouldn’t do that,” he reassures. He did tell Enjolras he’d be there until Enjolras didn’t want him anymore.

“So you’re silently pinning for his love and affection?”

“Nope, he’s still pretty affectionate and lovable,” in his own Enjolras like way. Like a cat that scratches if you pet it the wrong way.

“So you’re secretly jealous?”

“No, they’re actually kind of cute in their awkwardness.”

Courfeyrac narrows his eyes at him. “So you – what?”

Grantaire shrugs. “At this point I’m sort of playing this by ear.”

Courfeyrac stares at him some more, foot taping against the floor before he gasps and exclaims, “You think Combeferre is hot!” in a shrill voice.

Grantaire blushes because, well yeah, doesn’t everybody?

“So do you!”

“Shut up, that’s not the point! You think they’re hot together,” he says, rocking back on his heels as he smirks up at Grantaire.

“They do sort of mesh together don’t they?” he teases.

Courfeyrac laughs before his lips slowly turn down. “Just- be careful R.”

“I just want him to not miss out on this. I promise I’m not throwing myself under the bus.”

Enjolras comes back into the room before Courfeyrac can answer, bag in hand. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

Grantaire shakes his head before leaning in, letting Enjolras give him a small peck on the lips while Courfeyrac throws him one last meaningful look. Once the door is closed he turns back to find Éponine with a beer in hand and her arms crossed over.

“What?”

“Why are you here when your boyfriend is out with some other hot guy?”

“I didn’t know Courfeyrac was your type,” he says, walking past her towards the kitchen.

“Don’t try to distract me!” she says as Grantaire takes a beer for himself from the fridge, “you’re trying to get them together aren’t you? You are actually matchmaking your own boyfriend!” she groans, hands flailing in exaggeration. “You cannot be this selfish!”

“Selfish? ... You think I want him to leave?” he says with wide eyes.

“No, I think you want him to prove that he won’t, but you’re doing it the worst way possible,” Éponine exclaims, hands coming down to her sides. “Just talk to your fucking boyfriend!”

“No.” Grantaire shakes his head forcefully, feeling his jaw tighten as he grits his teeth. “This isn’t about that. I know how he feels about me—”

“I know you know,” Éponine says softly. “But I don’t think you always believe it.”

Grantaire sighs exasperatedly, carefully avoiding her eyes. “I just want him to be happy.”

“What about you?” she grumbles. “What will it take to make you happy?”

 

*

He hears that Combeferre did a great job, and that he accompanies them to the youth center a few more times. Jehan coyly tells him about it over breakfast one day, his treat. Grantaire’s starting to think he’s planning something devious.

Apparently Combeferre’s involvement has motivated Enjolras even more, since he’s taken to working less on his articles at home and devoting more time to the center. The time alone is good for Grantaire: he gets to paint without interruption and lay downhearted in bed all afternoon if he wants, with no one to ask him what’s wrong. But after too many afternoons inside he knows it’s going to start a dangerous pattern, so when Courfeyrac invites him out that night he willingly agrees.

The club is incredibly loud, but Grantaire’s used to tuning it out when he needs to. There are colorful lights and dark corners, with a large crowd of dancers in the middle of the floor.  He locates the bar, a casual reminder since he’s been to this club before, and then he locates his friends. It’s a big surprise to find Enjolras there already, sitting in the large circular booth and smiling lopsided at Grantaire, red drink in front of him.

He’s about to sit when Bahorel comes by, grabbing Feuilly and Musichetta, the only other occupants of the booth, and shouting, “Let’s dance losers!”

Grantaire laughs and goes to follow but is pulled back by his shoulder.

“What’s up?” he asks a pouting Enjolras when they’re left alone.

“Nothing, just… don’t go, not yet? I kind of miss you.”

Something warm and comforting curls in his stomach at the words. He can tell Enjolras has been drinking already by the scent of his breath caressing Grantaire’s mouth. He actually shivers at the sensation.

“Do you? What, no injustice to write about today?”

“More like fluff pieces,” Enjolras groans, “I swear if paying my dues involves one more article about traffic jams I’m going to lose it.”

Grantaire laughs and pulls him close, grazing their lips together. “Oh so you’re looking for a distraction.”

“I could be. Why, you have something in mind?” he teases, pulling Grantaire in closer to cup his chin. He drags his thumb over Grantaire’s skin, eyes on his mouth. The scent of tangy alcohol and cologne on Enjolras is making his head spin. Enjolras’ thumb skims over Grantaire’s bottom lip and he lets his mouth open on instinct, taking in a sharp gasp of breath.

Getting anxious at the wait, Grantaire leans forward but it’s Enjolras who presses his lips firmly to Grantaire’s. His mouth is warm and tastes sweet, probably like whatever he’d been drinking. His lips gentle yet in control. Grantaire loves the way Enjolras kisses, like he wanted to relish every second of it.

“Maybe,” Grantaire says between slow kisses. “Maybe I can find something to entertain you.”

Enjolras’ tongue slips into his mouth with an unhurried, winding coil that has Grantaire’s breath quickening, his body reacting right away. His skin heats and a pleasing ache builds low in his stomach, his fingers itching to touch more.

They’re in a crowded room but Grantaire doesn’t really care about that when the length of Enjolras is pressed against him. He backs them up slowly, pressing Enjolras’ back against the seat. He’s soon lost in the way Enjolras shifts under the stroke of his hands, the slight moans that break away from him touching Grantaire’s neck, the hands that clench forcefully at Grantaire’s back, lips fused together. He pulls back to trail small kisses along Enjolras’ jaw line to his ear. Enjolras sags against him when he bites into the junction of his neck and shoulder before soothing it with his lips. Grantaire holds him tighter, shifting his legs so he’s almost on top of him.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispers, breathlessly.

Someone coughs loudly from the sideline, wringing a frustrated groan out of both of them. He looks back to find Jehan smiling gleefully with a blushing Combeferre at his side.

“Look who made it!” Jehan exclaims with cheer, hauling Combeferre by the arm to sit across from them in the both. Grantaire feels a flash of irritation at Jehan, at the entire club really, but he gulps it down.

“Um,” Enjolras reaches out, pushing him slightly until Grantaire’s next to him and not, well, on him. Careful not to make any sudden movements, Grantaire turns to the others. “Um… welcome?” His throat is dry and his lips still feel hot and tingly. It makes conversation a bit difficult. Enjolras sneaks one of his hands behind Grantaire, a reassuring presence on the small of his back.

Grantaire stares intensely down at the sticky floor before Combeferre breaks the ice by bursting into a nervous laughter, Enjolras follows and soon enough all three of them are chuckling while Jehan smiles calmly besides them. Grantaire gives his friend a disbelieving look but the lines of his mouth don’t change.

“Hello,” Grantaire says uneasily, “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” He has no idea what to say further than that.

Enjolras makes an odd coughing sound, like a half barred laugh.

“Splendid weather,” Combeferre says without missing a beat. Grantaire’s sure Combeferre is laughing at him, he can see it in his eyes and the twitch of his lips. It’s hard to feel insulted though, when all he wants to do is cheekily grin back.

Since kissing Enjolras is the most wonderful of distractions, it’s understandable that Grantaire has no real warning at all for how gorgeous Combeferre looks in front of them. His usual sweater vests are gone, replaced by a formfitting t-shirt that accentuates his great biceps.

Next to him Enjolras squirms, stretching his legs to find a more comfortable position. Grantaire can relate. “I need a drink,” he announces, tugging at Enjolras’ hand so they can both escape the embarrassing scene, but Enjolras shakes his head and lets Combeferre start a conversation about his work, nodding along.  For a second he marvels at how Combeferre sometimes seems to know instinctively what Enjolras will need, be it a pen to jot down an idea or a topic to distract himself, but then he shakes his head to clear it and leaves them to it.

He approaches the bar, ordering a shot and pounding it back as fast as he can before getting another, feeling more anxious by the second. He takes a moment to watch the crowd of people, an intense beat pulsating through the floor as they all dance and have fun, including Courfeyrac and Musichetta, swaying to the beat on the dance floor. He lifts the small glass to his lips and orders once more, gaze turning back to their table and landing on Enjolras.  

His nerve endings are still tingling from their encounter and the sight of him makes him feel even more on edge. His gaze flits from Enjolras’ neck to Combeferre’s arms, lingering on them before shaking his head. With a sigh he approaches the table once more. He realizes he’s staring.

He contemplates what exactly they could be talking so intently about, seeing as the noise factor in the club was deafening and maddening. 

“Oh, well you see,” Combeferre is saying, looking rather taken aback. “I merely intended to suggest that, while I don’t entirely oppose your petition on unpaired rights I―”

Enjolras tilts his head, looking baffled. “My petition, from last week?”

“I—Yes, you mentioned it in one of your articles,” Combeferre explains.

Enjolras’ face goes strange. “You read my article?”

“Yes. What? Is it, is that a problem?” Combeferre asks cautiously, extending his hand as if he could reach across the table, then hesitating.

“No,” Enjolras says, “It’s not a problem. It’s . . . not even Courfeyrac has read that one yet, and he runs the website.”

Combeferre glances at Grantaire―as if looking for reassurance. Grantaire lets his lips turn up in a smile, letting him know it’s okay. “Well,” he said lightly. “I did read it; I’ve read them all I’d say. I think you’re an amazing journalist.”

Grantaire has to swallow at how  _serious_  he sounds, like it’s his honor just to be able to say that to Enjolras. He identifies with the sentiment in so many ways; he has to shake off the thought quickly. There’s no discernible lamp near them, but even in the dull light of the club Grantaire’s able to make out the flush moving up Enjolras’ neck.

He’s going to say something sarcastic when out of nowhere Courfeyrac plows into him, pushing him towards the dance floor as he yells, “Let’s dance losers!”

The music comes down upon him the closer he gets to the center of the room, thumping at the back of his head. In front of him is a shaking throng of touching bodies, moving in time with the harsh beat of the music. Grantaire’s starting to feel the alcohol burning through him, and it gives him a pleasant buzz as he takes in the colorful lights wandering through the faces of the crowd, illuminating wandering hands and muscular bodies. The air is heavy around him, he wipes his brow and someone tugs him back as a new song begins.

“Move it, R!” Courfeyrac shouts as he bounces around the floor, arms up and his shaking. Grantaire laughs, taking his hand as he spins him around and then backs up. Around him the others emerge, Musichetta dancing with Bahorel holding on to her hips, mouthing the lyrics to the song playing and Bossuet jumping around them. He spots Jehan in a corner and looks for Enjolras but finds Combeferre instead, laughing with Courfeyrac as the try to coordinate in a bop.

He lets himself go, dancing to the beat of the music, half oblivious to the people around him. He’s dancing and laughing at Courfeyrac trying to direct Combeferre into his own pace. Combeferre moves his body slowly, hypnotizing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing with it. Grantaire finds himself gravitating towards them, letting himself be pulled in until they’re a small distance apart.

“You’re all right,” Courfeyrac tells Combeferre as if he just decided it, adding a playful shove as they dance. Combeferre missteps because of it and when Grantaire goes to help him Combeferre lands his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders to balance himself.

Grantaire opens his mouth in surprise, his pulse speeding up in time to the throbbing music. Suddenly, he’s conscious of the supple body practically pressed against him and the hazel eyes staring into his own. He figures Combeferre will stutter uneasily but his smile widens, disarming and sincere. Grantaire has to look away.

Fuck, Grantaire doesn’t just like him, he _wants_ him.

He breathes out little by little, instructing his body to get a hold of its excitement.

Combeferre’s staring at him in a strange sort of way, head slanted and looking at Grantaire as if he was one of his moths, a species he still hasn’t figured out. Combeferre shakes, steadying his feet and letting go of Grantaire.

Its only after he lets go that Grantaire realizes he’s been holding his breath like some Victorian lady. He clears is throat, swallowing away the lump in it as he curses the beginning of a telling stir in his jeans.  

Grantaire licks his lips. “I―”

Combeferre rubs at his ear, brows pulling in. “Enjolras needs you.”

“What?” he asks, forgetting what he was about to say.

Combeferre is looking away, “Enjolras,” he repeats motioning across the floor.

Enjolras is being held up by Feuilly, smiling drunkenly as he says something that makes the other man wrinkles his brow.

“Need help?” Combeferre offers bashfully.

“No, I got it,” he says. He should have stopped Enjolras at his second drink, Enjolras is a notorious lightweight.

Feuilly’s eyes find Grantaire’s as he approaches, face sagging in relief. Grantaire goes to him, sneaking his arm around Enjolras’ waist and taking his weight. In the light of the club, his pale hair frames his head like a halo, cheeks flushed from drinking, and his white shirt sticks to his chest with sweat.

“Hey there gorgeous, you okay?”

“I’m dizzy but Feuilly’s taking care of me, Feuilly’s amazing,” Enjolras slurs with a silly laugh.

“Yeah, he is,” Grantaire snorts over at Feuilly, who blushes and offers to find a taxi.

“You’re amazing too, you are. And at dancing, you looked really good.” Grantaire tries to help him but still Enjolras stumbles forward and grabs at Grantaire more tightly for support.

“Thanks.” Grantaire clings to him tighter as he keeps trying to move forward with the extra weight on his side.

“I mean, Combeferre also looked good,” Enjolras says while he pulls at the collar of his shirt, “I mean, the dancing you both—It was good.”

Grantaire chuckles, waving to Courfeyrac and Combeferre who are watching worriedly from the dance floor. “Yes, it’s good, were all good.”

“You’re my boyfriend, you know,” Enjolras sighs when they finally get to the door.

“Oh am I?”

“Yes, we chose,” he says dreamily. “You chose me and I chose you. It means everything that I —that I got to choose you, but… but, you have to keep choosing don’t you? You can’t just do it once.” He says very seriously.

“I guess not,” Grantaire replies softly.

“You’re the best,” Enjolras says smiling dopily.

“I don’t know about best.”

“You are. You and…You and Courfeyrac you take care of me, and Combeferre he’s nice, you three you’re the — _bestest_. And Feuilly! But you and Combeferre are the best at dancing,” he slurs as he lunges ahead and takes Grantaire with him, almost landing them in the wet pavement outside of the club.

“Okay,” Grantaire draws it out before biting the inside of his cheek, uncertain.

“I like it,” Enjolras puts his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. “When you’re laughing with him you’re so happy and he’s so nice.”

Grantaire doesn’t move. “You like looking at me and Combeferre dancing together?”

“Jesus,” Enjolras says, “Yes.” His lips start brushing under Grantaire’s ear. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No,” Grantaire says. He really wasn’t mad at all.

Feuilly’s nowhere to be seen and there are no cabs at the exit. They wait for a few minutes, Enjolras resting against his side. He thinks Enjolras might be asleep, and peeks down to find him staring up at Grantaire with big, sad eyes.

“Will you leave?”

“No,” Grantaire brings him closer by the hand supporting his waist, his other hand coming to rest at Enjolras’ stomach. “I’m not leaving your side, Enjolras.”

Enjolras fingers lift up, clumsily clinging to Grantaire’s shirt.  “You won’t? Not even if I want to dance with Combeferre too?”

Without really meaning to, he pictures the two men; a tanned Combeferre grasping at Enjolras’ pale skin, rocking against each other in a frantic need for what they can’t get with their clothes on. Grantaire swallows heavily at the thought.

There’s a careful hope in his voice, a vulnerability to it. The most important people have been absent from Enjolras’ life, Grantaire sure as hell wasn’t going to be one of them. “I’ll be right here,” he reassures.

Feuilly comes by then, motioning to a taxi at the end of the street. Grantaire takes it gratefully, helping Enjolras inside before he settles in himself. It’s not a long ride but Grantaire’s anxious to get home soon and get Enjolras sobered up. He can’t help but think of Éponine’s question, asking what he wants.

They have a lot to talk about.

 

***

**Combeferre**

**2014**

Combeferre’s in love with his soul mate.

Well, alright, _in love_ might be overstating it a bit, but there are definite feelings he cannot categorize as lust or curiosity. Not anymore at least. 

“Do you think the lecture on consent was a bit on the nose?”

“Not at all, you need to be direct with them,” Enjolras says pleasantly, “Honestly, you were brilliant. They really responded to you.”

Every Saturday, Enjolras volunteers at the Youth & Volunteer support program for local adolescence. Combeferre spent most of his own hours in an animal shelter, but its funds were being redistributed and they had too many extra hands for the small space. When Enjolras told him about this program during a meeting he jumped at the chance to help.

“You think so?”

“Yes,” Enjolras smiles, pushing the hair out of his face as he sits down on top of the teacher’s desk that Combeferre leans against.

He smiles back and holds Enjolras’ gaze. Enjolras has taken to sitting closely to Combeferre when they see each other. More than once he’s found Enjolras studying him with that impenetrable look that makes him seem so imposing, and then opening his mouth as if to say something but not really making any sound.

It’s difficult to believe how _striking_ Enjolras looks sitting beside him. For so long he was a ghost presence in Combeferre’s mind that even after all these months he can hardly believe Enjolras is real. He looks so alive now; imposing and vibrant with his shinning eyes and focused gaze.

He can’t help but speculate about Enjolras’ emotions. As kids, they shared a bond that formed a window between their minds and he was usually such a hurricane of emotions. Now his demeanor is so unruffled and thought out, at least with Combeferre. It’s like each movement he makes is choreographed, and Combeferre finds himself responding in turn.

They stand there for a beat until Enjolras shifts his eyes away and they turn their heads in sync, looking ahead.

The time spent at the center always makes him feel off, like it’s going too fast and too slow at the same time. It might be because, whether they’re working with individual kids or giving group lectures, if they’re together in the room Combeferre will inevitably search out Enjolras as he works, swiftly avoiding his eyes when Enjolras notices and then repeating the same pattern with Enjolras looking at him. It gets frustrating some days, and it tends to cause a throb of pain at the top of his head.

Ever since they first saw each other, Combeferre has been feeling what he can only assume is feedback from the bond caused by their new found proximity, occasional headache included. When he viewed the results from the preliminary tests confirming their match he’d asked about the tiredness, the itchiness, the irritation in his eyes’ but he already knew what they would say; there is no real precedent for untouched marks with no bond.

Now that they see each other rather regularly between meetings and the youth center, and with Jehan, Courfeyrac and sometimes Grantaire inviting him places, the itchiness at least has receded, but there’s still a restless feeling in his skin, like he’s continuously vibrating.

From an intellectual point of view, Combeferre is certain that someday he’s going to find this all extremely fascinating. The dynamics of an interrupted soul bond is a topic he’s read so much about that seeing a live case study is like being granted a once in a lifetime opportunity to observe the phenomenon. Except that the process and outcome are so personal it makes any scientific inquiry he might have seem insensitive, especially to Enjolras.

He’s eager to mention some of his theories to Enjolras, like the idea that the bond might be dormant, reaching out with these new found symptoms. He’s found some particular studies where couples unable to seal the bond were made to be in permanent physical contact for a set period of time. It’s not the same situation, but the more he looks into it the more confident he is that physical touch might just be the trigger for their own bond to re-emerge.

But can he even propose something like that to Enjolras? He can’t ask that of Enjolras, especially taking into account his relationship with Grantaire.

The man made it clear how much he doesn’t want to partake in any of the social customs related to soul mates and soul bonds. Combeferre often wonders if that takes into account even speaking of their situation, because every time he even hints at the subject Enjolras insistently finds a way to escape him. He hasn’t even had the chance to explain what happened all those years ago. He’s sure, from Courfeyrac’s bold insinuations and Grantaire inquires and quick retractions, that Enjolras has no real explanation and he wants to provide one, if Enjolras would just stop finding sneaky ways of leaving the room when he brings it up.

"Want some?" Enjolras asks amiably, reaching for a packet inside his bag.

It’s some sort of barber pole candy in a stick. Holding it out as an offering, Enjolras looks more like one the teens from the center than the adult guiding them. He's not smiling, just wearing the stoic expression Combeferre has come to identify as his resting face. He has to resist the urge to touch his hand to Enjolras’ as he agrees to take one, carefully pinching the end to pull it towards him.

Every time their fingers almost brush, when Combeferre is handing Enjolras a piece of paper, or every time they stand close enough or sit together at the Musain, it all sends Combeferre’s pulse racing and makes him hyperaware of his body and how it’s _longing_ to close the distance between them. Most days, it takes all of his well earned control not to give in to the desire of holding him close.

Other times, it just hits him. This right here, this is his _soul mate_. This is the person that a few months ago he thought he’d never get to meet; the one who up to a few weeks ago he believed would never want anything to do with him. And now here they are, waiting comfortably on Courfeyrac to finish, eating candy together. He _found_ him, even if all they ever do is sit amicably in silence, it means a lot to Combeferre.

He cheerfully welcomes the grin spreading on his face when he asks, "Is this what you qualify as a meal?" seeing as its lunchtime already.

Enjolras shrugs and then smirks, biting roughly into the candy. “It gets the job done.”

Combeferre feels a tingle running up his spine, hands clenching briefly at his sides while he watches Enjolras’ tongue wipe the remains of the crushed candy from his lips.

He likes spending time with Enjolras, but it’s also tremendously confusing because a situation like theirs comes with the social assumption of being romantically involved, which they are not.  But is he an acquaintance? A friend? Something else?  Can you be just an acquaintance with someone who, in all regards, is biologically and legally your soul mate?

The term in itself is ridiculously romanticized, and Combeferre is more than aware that some matches don’t enter into romantic relationships because of lack of compatibility or even safety reasons.

But it doesn’t stop him from wanting it for himself.  He finds Enjolras captivating and his intentions honorable. It’s adorable how he gives speeches to the kids, but when one of them comes up to him to ask about a girl he frowns and talks about the cause instead. He’s nice too, Combeferre has seen him with his friends, and how he’ll stare in open adoration at them all, Grantaire especially of course. There’s a tingle in his chest when he catches a look of Enjolras’ hair shinning in the sun and he’s not sure if it’s the residual effects of the bond or not. And then there’s how he feels for Grantaire.

Either way, it feels like it’s out of his hands.

They talk about the program until Courfeyrac appears and they leave, deciding to reconvene at the next meeting.

He leaves wanting more, as is usual with his encounters with Enjolras.

*

The feeling stays with him throughout his entire afternoon and as he goes to the Musain for lunch the next day. Combeferre knows that on occasion he’ll find an _Ami_ or two and if he’s lucky that person will be Enjolras or Grantaire, maybe even both.  Besides, the food there is nice, much better than the can of tuna waiting for him back at his apartment.

As soon as he enters the café, he sees Grantaire alone, head resting on his arms down on the table. He spots Courfeyrac too, at the bar flirting with a waitress, and Feuilly behind it, rolling his eyes.

Grantaire always looks artfully disheveled, his curls sticking up naturally in a way that seems like he spent hours running his fingers through it. He has paint on his pant leg today which is also common, a cerulean sort of color.

“Rough night?” Combeferre asks, holding back a laugh.

He yawns as he greets Combeferre, fist rubbing his left eye like a sleepy child. He has bags under his red eyes, it’s the telltale sign he’s come to identify as Grantaire’s hangover symptoms.  Seeing him this way feels particularly intimate— especially with the unreserved smirk he’s carrying despite his sickly face. It makes Combeferre want to hide him away and bury him under blankets.

Spotting Grantaire’s lone cup of coffee, “Take this,” he says, and holds out the bottle of ibuprofen he put in his bag this morning. “Don’t forget to eat something too.”

He’s half expecting Grantaire to scoff at him, like he tends to do with Joly when he tries to sneak some water in between Grantaire’s drinks, but he just tilts his head, staring at him with a puzzled look.

“Just take it,” Combeferre insists, placing the bottle in front of him.

One pill and six sips of water later, Grantaire seems more lenient towards actually speaking.

It’s surprisingly easy to slip into Grantaire’s orbit, or maybe it just seems that way to Combeferre. He’s so incredibly gifted that and smart, that at first Combeferre couldn’t help but be drawn to whatever he did or said at meetings, eager to see what Grantaire could come up with.

Slowly, he’s found himself conversing about topics that range from botany to fashion with Grantaire, trading books, playing darts in seedy bars or having coffee together at the Musain. Opening up to Grantaire becomes almost effortless to him. Last week they spent an entire afternoon discussing TV shows and Combeferre barely noticed the hours pass by. Grantaire isn’t a fan of Doctor Who, which just seems wrong if you ask Combeferre.

 

However, they both wholeheartedly agree that Buffy is amazing.

 

Combeferre may be a little bit in love with Grantaire as well.

 “What are you reading now?”

Combeferre has his tablet in hand, the Les Amis blog still open in the browser. He shows Grantaire the screen, face heating up when the artist laughs out loud at the sight of Enjolras’ face signaling his column in the Les Amis blog. He looks to it as well, smile turning fond. The picture is hilarious for those who’ve know Enjolras, a quick snap of him scowling at the camera with a fist in the air; Courfeyrac’s doing, no doubt.

Ironically, the first Musain meeting wasn’t the first time he’d ever read Enjolras’ writing, and the café wasn’t the first time he saw his face.

 He’s been reading the Les Amis blog for years now, almost since its inception, drawn by the colorful ads and convinced to stay by the certainty of the content. It’s only now that he knows that Grantaire and Enjolras were the ones responsible for leading him to it.

"Oh," says Grantaire, peering at him closely from the other side of the table. Combeferre can’t be sure what he means, but in his head he hears an odd buzzing sound as Grantaire shift his eyes from Combeferre to the tablet in his hand and back.

"Well. Good." And then, before Combeferre can ask more pointed questions about what Grantaire means, he launches into a rant about his overbearing supervisor. There’s finally some color on his cheeks as he tells frantically tells his story. Combeferre is equal parts concerned and charmed by the quick change of subject.

Could Grantaire be bothered by him reading Enjolras’ article? He knows it can’t easy on Grantaire, having his boyfriend’s soul mate around. Enjolras and Grantaire are good together though, and Combeferre will gladly go up against anyone who says they aren’t good together.

Sometimes, when he sees them holding hands, it makes him want what they have. But it’s more difficult to discern what aspect, is it a relationship like that, or that relationship? Combeferre carefully places that idea in the  _crazy fantasy box, seeing as it’s never going to happen_ _._

It doesn’t really matter though. As long as Enjolras welcomes him at meetings and as long as Grantaire is still there, Combeferre will take what he can get.

He looks away from Grantaire just in time to witness Courfeyrac walking up to the table, a big mason jar with whipped cream on top in his hand.

“Jehan wants you at the bar,” he tells Grantaire as he bangs into the chair next to Combeferre, reaching out to place his drink on the table. “He said something about baseline expectations?"

"I-thanks," Grantaire replies, looking chagrinned when he ducks his face to hide a blush, which makes Combeferre smile because, well, it’s endearing.

As he leaves, Courfeyrac stares after him with a grin before slowly turning back to Combeferre.

“You two are getting along well,” he says, Combeferre half listens as he watches Grantaire walk up to the bar and lean over it to reach for Jehan and, well—no one can really blame him for catching the way his shirt rides up his back as he grabs on to Jehan. He thinks about what would happen if he went to him and pulled the shirt even higher; maybe, in a different situation —

“So, dancing the other night; fun right?” Courfeyrac remarks as he moves the straw in his drink. “In fact,” he continues, eyes swaying from the bar and back to him with a teasing leer, “one might even add more adjectives to describe it, like say, exciting or, you know, sexy? In a romantic sort of way?”

Combeferre peeks at the bar, making sure Grantaire is a safe distance away. “It was great,” he says, voice feigning disinterest as he tries not to shift in his chair. “Although, hardly romantic.”

“Look I like you, Combeferre, you volunteer with puppies and you make permission forms sound like porn, that’s impressive. But let’s be real,” he seems to deflate as he gets serious, smile dimming while he goes on, “whether you admit it to yourself or not, you really like Grantaire.”

“We’re just friends,” he says weakly, scratching at his arm while he tries to ignore the empty feeling in the pit of the stomach.

He’d hoped he hadn’t been obvious in his infatuations; apparently he isn’t as subtle as he’d like to think. At least not to Courfeyrac. He already knows he can’t deny his feelings directly, not unless he wants to lie to his new friends, but at least he can be safe in the knowledge that nothing will happen.

He remembers the way Grantaire was staring at him earlier and he briefly how his eyes flittered from Enjolras’ face in the picture to his own and gives himself a moment to wonder about it, before pushing the image away.

Courfeyrac looks at him long-sufferingly and sighs. “I can’t really have _another_ version of this conversation so just… talk to him, both of them.” He shoves the drink into Combeferre’s hands, from where he can smell the whiffs of chocolate in it that Courfeyrac must have ordered. “And here, drink this.”

He takes the excuse to put off that conversation indefinitely, quietly sipping at his drink and nodding along to whatever Courfeyrac tells him next.

If his eyes shift slightly towards the bar once or twice, no one needs to know.

 

*

He avoids the Musain for more than a week, claiming multiple shifts at the hospital.

Even though they haven’t known each other long, Combeferre’s aware that Courfeyrac has an extra sense for these things. He has a way with people that Combeferre finds fascinating, if only because when it comes to people, he needs time and observation to understand what Courfeyrac seems to grasp instinctively. But, whether it’s just Courfeyrac’s intuition or not, the last thing he wants is to unload any unwanted feelings on Enjolras and Grantaire.

Even though he was reluctant at first, Enjolras made a space for him in his life regardless of his misgivings, and Grantaire ignored any awkwardness and made him feel welcome. Enjolras was clear in that he didn’t want to change his relationship with Grantaire, and though Combeferre knows Grantaire doesn’t always believe that, he certainly doesn’t want to be the cause of any issues between them. He would hate to know he’s making them uncomfortable with something he can’t help, like his feelings for them.

And, okay—so some days he feels a little more jealous than most. At Grantaire, for having the type of relationship with Enjolras he always thought _he’d_ be the one to share with his soul mate. Of Enjolras, for receiving those rare vulnerable smiles. Of them both, when they’re debating opposite ideas but still holding hands.

He’s a grown man, he can deal with it.

And the truth is, he doesn’t think they’ll welcome him back if he _does_ end up causing them grief. Why would they? They’ve both been nothing but kind to him but at the end of the day, he’s only a casual friend at most, not anything more, not when Enjolras is still reluctant about acknowledging anything else.

So he has to at least try and preserve that fragile connection he’s managed to form with them both.

As a result, when Jehan calls him to explain that Grantaire is going to be the feature in an exhibit for new talent to watch for, what he should say is _no, thank you_. But the thought of missing the look on Grantaire’s face as they celebrate his success makes him feel an unpleasant tightness in the back of his throat.

He agrees to go and somehow arrives at the event with Courfeyrac and Jehan in toe. When they meet outside, Courfeyrac looks him up and down and whistles comically. As they enter the room he can hear his friends whispering behind him, something about _deliciously wide shoulders._

He finds Enjolras in the lobby right away, a sharp-looking navy suit cut to precision to fit his frame. He’s relaxed; drink in his hand and a twist to his lips. Combeferre feels his mouth go dry at the sight and has to steady himself so he won’t fall flat on his face when Courfeyrac pulls him along and keeps walking.

“Are you ill?” Jehan asks from his left side. “You look a little pink; maybe you’ve got a cold?”

“I’m fine,” he says, even though his palms are sweating and he’s suddenly feeling to hot in his clothes. “Just a bit thirsty.”

“Sure,” Courfeyrac says from his other side, tone disbelieving.

“There he is!” Jehan squeaks, practically barreling over Combeferre on his way to Grantaire. He’s is dressed beautifully from head to toe, an equally striking presence next to Enjolras. All of Combeferre’s breath leaves him at once. He mumbles something unintelligible to Courfeyrac and jets the other way. Though he agreed to come, he knows he’s not quite ready to look them in the face and fake indifference, especially while their wearing those suits.

He amuses himself by observing the art, walking through the room and declining a drink from a passing waiter.  There are a lot of people spread out in the open loft but he navigates it with ease. He passes by Feuilly enthusiastically waving his hands at Bahorel, who’s trying to fish something out of his drink.

“Nice work,” Éponine comments, appearing from behind them and looking him up and down with a raised brow. Bahorel and Feuilly turn to him in sync, nod at him at the same time and then turn back to what they were doing. It’s sort of eerie.

Eventually, he finds himself in front of a painting of what he can only describe as a red blob. He’s trying to discern how the visual representation and the title ‘ _Carrying the banner_ ’ could possibly link together, when Enjolras approaches him from the side. He goes still, expecting some sort of blow or uncomfortable question, but all Enjolras says is, “Do you know what the hell this is supposed to be?”

It startles a laugh out of Combeferre, body quaking as they exchange smiling looks.

When the laughter dies down Enjolras clears his throat, hand going to his tie and pulling slightly at it. “I haven’t seen you in awhile,” he comments.

“Yes, I’ve been… busy with rounds,” Combeferre says, flustered. He shakes his head with a grimace and goes to say anything else but Enjolras isn’t looking at him. He’s glaring in the other direction, hands clenched and his posture stiff. When he turns to look Combeferre finds Grantaire engaged in some kind of serious conversation with an older, balding man.

Grantaire’s scowling down at the man, hand clenching a glass of wine, and his shoulders are bent. He looks crestfallen, one can only assume because of whatever’s being said on the other side of the room.

Next to him, Enjolras makes an unpleasant face, curling his lips and narrowing his eyes. “I hate that guy,” he says, and doesn’t bother to explain.

“Why?” Combeferre asks, but Enjolras’ response is cut off when the small man’s voice raises loud enough for them to hear it.

When they turn to look, the man is gesturing towards the wall at one of Grantaire’s paintings, Combeferre recognizes it from the first time he went to see his art. It’s a myriad of shapes that lock together, creating a giant sphere in the canvas. Combeferre’s drawn to it every time he sees it, in most part because of the mix of colors; they’re startling, and oddly familiar. He wants to move closer and touch his fingers to the canvas.

Enjolras growls, heading towards Grantaire with his cheeks flushed with anger. Combeferre follows, quickening his pace when he notices Enjolras’ tight jaw.

“Enjolras,” says Grantaire, “you remember Professor Richards don’t you? He’s one of the organizers of the exhibit.”

“I remember,” Enjolras glares

The professor doesn’t say anything, just looks at Enjolras scathingly. Crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

 “Are you alright?” Combeferre asks Grantaire, who turns towards him, eyes widening as if he hadn’t noticed him before.

“Hi! You’re here,” he says, eyeing him in the same way Éponine’s had just moments ago.

 Combeferre nods and looks pointedly at the professor.

 “Oh, we’re fine,” Grantaire adds with a self-deprecating smile, “Professor Richards was just reminding me how much I suck.”

The professor rolls his eyes, “All I was saying is that this piece you chose to feature is simply unassertive and cautious. It’s painstakingly derivative with not a dash of real ability to it. I just can’t fathom why you would choose it. I'm not saying it’s unpromising but it’s not good enough for today, I _told_ you not to place it.”

“Yes,” Grantaire says, voice dangerously quiet and brows raised incredulously, “and I didn’t listen.”

Grantaire seems calm, but next to him Enjolras clenches his jaw even tighter, looking  _livid_ _._

 “Why are you even doing this? Maybe you should be in a line of work where you aren’t critiqued as a standard of operation? Or at the very least put some effort into your work if you want to feature it.”

“You’ve got to be  _kidding me,_ ” Enjolras snaps, sounding pretty much done with the mousy man in front of them. He crosses his hands firmly against his chest, getting right in the professor’s face, who looks back at him warily and swallows hard. Even Combeferre leans back a little, cautious of Enjolras’ ire.

Behind the confrontation, Grantaire shakes his head, looking extremely fed-up. Something about seeing him like this makes Combeferre’s chest ache and he has to restrain himself from going towards him.

Instead, he calmly lays a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, not squeezing just a reminder of where they are.

“I think it’s amazing,” he says calmly. All three of them turn to him, all with different looks of incredulousness on their faces. “There’s a thinly honed sense of composition, and a deep understanding of color. I don’t know, his work feels meaningful when you look at it.”

He looks at the section they’re in of Grantaire’s work, then just at the painting, eyes crinkling as he stares. Its abstract work, but he doesn’t need to read the Les Amis tag next to it to know that it’s so obviously about his friends.

“ _You can feel_  the strength of them from across the room,” he adds.

He turns back to Grantaire, just him, and it pains him to see the artist eyes wide and shocked, like he isn’t used to hearing compliments about his work, despite it being featuring like this all the time. “I told you, your art is beautiful.”

Enjolras is staring at him too, eyes narrowed and head tilted. The professor straightens up, mumbling something to Grantaire but Combeferre doesn’t think any of them is paying attention to him anymore.

The knot of worry that's been growing in his stomach since he spoke with Courfeyrac is loosening with relief at the sight of them both in front of him, staring at him not with mistrust, but with warmth. 

“I—thank you,” Grantaire says in a daze, gaze filled with wonder. The professor seems to have left, Combeferre only notices because someone else comes up to Grantaire to congratulate him. They step back to give them space, Enjolras’ still staring at Combeferre like he was sprouting horns right in front of him.

“Who was that?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Just some idiot. He was Grantaire’s advisor for awhile in school and he thinks he has a say on what he does now.” Enjolras surveys him intently, rubbing the edge of his jaw and breathing out with an impatient huff. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Why did you,” he hesitates, cutting his eyes towards Grantaire and then looking back. “Why did you say all that?”

Combeferre guesses the real question is _did you say it for me?_ but doesn’t waver, immediately answering, “Because it’s true,” voice firm and quiet.

Enjolras nods but doesn’t stop looking, he can feel heat creeping up his neck and collarbone at the weight of his eyes.

“Hey,” Grantaire comes back, smile shy and cheeks rosy, probably from the wine. “How about I give you guys the personal tour?”

Combeferre frowns. “Are you sure? Don’t you need to talk to people?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “That can wait,” he says. Combeferre feels a fluttering in his stomach; Grantaire’s looking at him like he’s done something unexpectedly kind, like he matters. Next to them Enjolras is biting his lip and staring at him with that daunting look he’s grown so accustom to, but this time he knows this is something with more weight.

As Grantaire leads them towards his pieces, Enjolras’ eyes linger on Combeferre and follow him all through the night.

*

He honestly has important things to do, patients to tend to, classes to pass but you might not know it by how Combeferre’s thoughts keep veering towards the way Enjolras kissed Grantaire goodnight at the last meeting.

He’s trying to catch up on his reading at the Musain, but no amount of trying can get that visual out of his head. The way Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s elbow, the way Grantaire pushed back, his lips lingering.

Yeah, he’s not going to get much done.

It’s far from the first time Combeferre has had fantasies about them, but it still leaves him with a sense of incompleteness and guilt. He doesn’t know how long he can go without getting an answer about his place in this current situation because he can’t figure it out himself. As soul mates go, theirs isn’t a normal case.

It’s Jehan, who’s silently working across from him, who sets him on the right path.

“Why are you so worried?”

“They’re in a relationship,” Combeferre says. “And I don’t want to mess that up by asking Enjolras for anything.”

“And Grantaire?”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow.

Jehan shrugs. “What? You sigh dreamily every time he walks into the room.”

“I really doubt that.”

“No, you do. It’s hilariously tender. I don’t get why you haven’t all gotten your shit together; you like both of them and they both like you.”

Combeferre shakes his head. “Enjolras was clear, he isn’t interested. And Grantaire only has eyes for him.”

“That was _months_ ago. They’re both really stupid over you, which you clearly haven’t noticed. But maybe it’s time that you opened your eyes to _who_ are right in front of you, before you all miss out on something wonderful.”

Then he lifts his book, swiftly ending the conversation and leaving Combeferre staring at the cover of _A Practical Guide to Polyamory_.

*

Combeferre passes the threshold of their house feeling a bit like he just passed a trial. Last time he was here Enjolras was blocking the entrance, he wouldn’t have dared take a step inside. Today, Enjolras is beckoning him in and apologizing for the mess as he picks up scattered things from the living room so they can work on something for Enjolras’ next article. He feels touched at the trust in the gesture and proud to have earned it.

Combeferre starts to help, clearing things from the coffee table.

“Is he getting you to work for free?” Grantaire passes by, a stack of clothes in his hands. “How very imperial of you, Enjolras.”

Enjolras grumbles, clearly distracted by straitening the couch cushions.

“Oh sorry, you want to do this yourself?” Combeferre teases.

Grantaire looks at the books and papers scattered around the living room, and blanches. “Yeah… no. I’m gonna take a shower.” He smiles enigmatically at them and leaves the living room.

Combeferre keeps sorting the table so he can make a place for his laptop, when he finds his face among the papers. It’s a pencil drawing of him, glasses shinning as he tilts part of his lips up in an almost-smile.

 “It’s good, isn’t it?” Enjolras say from his side, tilting the papers towards himself and surveying it with a grin.

Up close the detail is amazing, even the iris in his eyes is clearly defined. The fact that Grantaire took the time to analyze him so closely makes it impossible for him not to smile down at it, clutching the paper in his hand.

 “Yes, it is,” he says, and when he looks up Enjolras is watching him with a soft look on his face.

“You have feelings for my boyfriend,” he says, in a strange tone that Combeferre has never heard from him before.

Combeferre feels his throat constrict, heart racing with dread. He can only blame himself really. Combeferre couldn’t keep his feelings in check, and now they were calling him out for it. He gave Enjolras his word, to value his choice over the mark in his chest and now he’s blown it.

“Yes,” he says, casting about for a way to follow up on that, something that will put Enjolras at ease about his intentions, but all he can say is, “And not only him.”

“Courfeyrac said that might be the case.”

Enjolras is looking up at him, face blank but with bright eyes and no sign of the trepidation Combeferre was expecting.  

"I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable," Combeferre finally whispers. "It's not something I can really help. I know you don’t want much from me—“

“Don’t be stupid,” Enjolras scoffs. Which isn’t an answer at all. It smarts a bit, but at least they can finally talk about it, instead of Enjolras pulling away like he’s done so far.

“Just tell me what you want then,” he says, feeling a weight being lifted at finally being able to come out and ask. “Tell me what you want from me."

The words dangle silently between them. Enjolras’ stillness seems like answer enough. He’d been optimistic, hoped it wasn’t just wishful thinking, that Enjolras might want more from him. He’s ready to stammer out and apology when Enjolras turns away, eyes downturned as he sits on the couch.

“I need to know what happened,” Enjolras says at last, looking up again with pleading eyes, “How did the… the bond? How did it break?”

His hand goes to his chest and he doesn’t have the presence of mind to really notice, there’s only Enjolras sitting in front of him, just a few paces steps away. It’s a gift in itself, to have this chance, so when he takes a step forward, his stiff shoulders and defensive stance is gone.

He moves to the couch, keeping his actions slow and cautious, and sitting at a polite distance.

“It happened when I was twelve,” he says, candidly. “I got sick; I had a small defect in my heart.”

Enjolras jerks his head back, seemingly surprised. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I always was,” he continues, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “There was an opening in the wall between my right and left ventricle, like well … a hole in the heart some people call it.”

Enjolras grimaces, eyebrows drawing together.

“It sounds worse than it was, really. I always had it since I was a baby, I’d see a doctor regularly and I took medication. But then by that age I was always feeling tired and could barely run like I used to because I couldn’t catch my breath,” he breaths in deep, remembering the sensation of panic when he couldn’t suck in air properly. “I could feel you sometimes, your own frustration every time I was the one that didn’t want to get out of bed.”

“It’s because I felt it too,” Enjolras says quietly, “the tiredness, the nausea. I got sick a lot and I never knew why.”

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre says earnestly.

Enjolras shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. Then what happened?”

“I had surgery; an incision into my chest, cutting into the mark. That’s when,” his breath hitches and he can’t look at Enjolras so he looks at the floor. “It was so stupid, just a routine surgery. No one thought it would have any influence on the bond, but after I woke up you were just, you were _gone_.”

“Combeferre,” Enjolras whispers.

“I knew something was wrong but they kept telling me to wait, that I’d heal in a few weeks and it would come back like normal. I waited for the tenderness to pass, through the burning and the itchiness, and still nothing. They told me… they told me I’d probably never find my soul mate so that’s why—“ he swallows, “so that’s why I’m not expecting anything from you now Enjolras, I never even expected to find you and I’m so grateful, you have no idea.”

“I do,” Enjolras cuts in. “I thought I’d never even get to meet you so I stopped hoping for it a long time ago. I didn’t— I didn’t want to live hoping for something that seemed like there was no chance of happening.” He scoots closer to Combeferre, “and a part of me thought, well, that you didn’t want to know me. That you’d made it happen.”

Combeferre’s mouth drops, “I’d never-”

“No,” Enjolras shakes his head, “I know, it was my insecurity I think or just, something to make it easier. The bonding system isn’t something I always agree with and I just couldn’t let myself want more, friendship or otherwise.”

“And now?”

“I still can’t completely agree with a system that doesn’t let you choose what you want. But, you’re very kind and patient, and just … beautiful.” He says blushing wildly. “Grantaire says I miss you, even if we’ve meat recently and I think he’s right. But I need to know…” he trails off.

“Anything,” Combeferre says, feeling his breath bottle up in his chest.

“Do you,” he starts, elbows pressing into his side, making him smaller, “Do you feel obligated because of the bond? Or is it… more?”

Realization strikes him like a blinding light. Even though he’s the one meant to answer, Combeferre can’t help but hold still in expectation, gaze roaming Enjolras’ face as he takes him in. He thinks he gets it now, what’s happening. Enjolras isn’t saying no or running away. He’s just waiting for the right answer.

“It’s more,” he answers firmly. “It’s much more than the bond.”

Enjolras face lights up, but he bites his lip, holding back a smile. “Are you sure? I know it sounds silly but I don’t want this to be about what you think we should do, because we have the same soul mark. I want you to be here because you want to.”

“I could care less about fate or biology or whatever right now. I care about you, and I care about Grantaire and it is more than enough to be a friend to both of you. But,” he can feel the heat growing on his face, a blush forming as he leans in closer, “I don’t think I could get rid of my feelings for you even if I wanted to try. What I’d really like is for us to be more, maybe? If you’re both open to it?” 

“I’m open to it,” Grantaire says, coming out of the bathroom. “Just so were clear.”

“Were you just waiting behind the door?”

Grantaire laughs, t-shirt clinging damply to his torso. “Maybe we rehearsed this, maybe we didn’t.”

He laughs, smiling wildly and turning to Enjolras, “Enjolras?”

 “I think … I might really like to go on a date, with you.”

 “Are you sure?” Combeferre asks, lips parting slightly.

Enjolras’ smile is small when he answers, “Yes.”

There’s a beat in which they look between each other, unsure of the next step.

 “Yeah, we should maybe talk about this some more.” Grantaire suggests. “Communication is important or whatever.”

“Tea?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods. “I’ll make it.”

“I’ll help,” says Combeferre.

“We all will,” Enjolras says as they follow him in to the kitchen. “So how exactly is this going to work?” Enjolras reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a tea kettle.

“As equals,” Grantaire says, leaning against the counter. “All three of us.”

“I’d like that,” says Combeferre, “I understand of course that you have a very longstanding relationship and I wouldn’t expect to just jump in to your dynamic. If you’re hesitant Grantaire, its okay,” he says cautiously, “if you don’t see me that way.”

“You’re an idiot,” Grantaire says with no heat, “weren’t you listening earlier?”

Enjolras sighs, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. “What he means is that though we love each other, we also _both_ like you a lot.”

Combeferre’s heartbeat quickens and he struggles not to release what will only amount to a crazy smile. He throws darting glances in between them, wanting to move closer and grab Grantaire’s hips or touch Enjolras’ hair, but he refrains.

“I’m just not sure on the… logistics,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire snorts.

“Not that!” Enjolras protests with a blush, halfheartedly glaring at Grantaire. “Or well, not only that.”

Combeferre gives in to his desires, gathering his nerves and walking closer to Grantaire.  “We could always help him out,” he offers in what he hopes comes off as alluring.  

Grantaire eyes him with a smirk that softens once it reaches his face. “Why?” Grantaire asks, throwing Combeferre off. “You know the same thing you said to me applies to you right? You don’t have to get me on board to make Enjolras happy or to be with him.”

“I wouldn’t do that Grantaire; I wouldn’t want to be with you just to make him happy. You’ve obviously had no qualms about me and him, and I know that you would be okay with him and me pursuing something separate from your own relationship.  But I- I don’t want that and I don’t want you to leave. Unless that’s what—”

Before he can finish, Grantaire grabs him by his forearms and pulling him roughly against his chest and stopping his words with a kiss.

He tastes like beer, and his tongue slides expertly against Combeferre’s, leaving no room for doubt in his intentions. It’s impossible not to melt into him. A low groan thrums from Grantaire’s chest; the same one Combeferre is currently pressed against, and it makes his head spin. Grantaire could win awards for this, with a special category for the way it makes his nerves tingle from his lips down to the tip of his toes.

By the time Combeferre has the presence of mind to do something with his hand, slipping one into Grantaire’s hair and clutching tightly at his waist with the other, Grantaire’s own hands are gripping his arms tighter, fingers digging into his back. A low rumble of disapproval leaves Combeferre’s mouth as they pull apart.

"Fuck,” Grantaire takes a trembling breath; his mouth a shinning, vibrant red. "You are so,"

But Combeferre doesn’t hear what he is because Enjolras clears his throat loudly. They both turn to him in sync, finding his mouth wide open; pupil’s dilated as he stares at them.

Combeferre and Grantaire don’t hesitate; both of them reach out, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him closer.

Enjolras slips his hand on Grantaire’s waist but stops before touching Combeferre. “Can I-?” he hesitates, taking a breath. “Can I kiss you?”

Combeferre pauses uncertainly, thinking of how best to explain. “I’d like that, I _really_ would, but I’m not sure what will happen with the bond. I think, maybe if we touch…” he trails off, not knowing what to say.

“I-,” Enjolras opens and closes his mouth, looking conflicted, “If we do, we’d be able to feel each other again?”

“I think so,” Combeferre isn’t afraid of that. “I’d like to. I have to say, I miss it too. I miss you.”

Enjolras seems intrigued. Grantaire places a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder in support and there’s a look shared between them. Enjolras nods as if they shared some silent message, or maybe they’ve talked about this before. Combeferre doesn’t even know if this could work, doesn't know if it’s possible to feel anything at all anymore, but he wants it badly.

“Can I?” he motions, seeing as Enjolras doesn’t appear reluctant. “Touch you, I mean? I- I’d like to know if it’s still there.”

Enjolras stares at their hands, poised closely together, and nods. When Combeferre reaches for his hand, Enjolras startles strongly, recoiling his own.

“Shit, sorry,” he says immediately, sounding wretched.

Combeferre feels like shit. He looks back at Grantaire who looks worried. “We don’t have to—”

“No,” Enjolras replies, “I want to.” And then it’s him who reaches over and clasps one of Combeferre’s hands into his own, holding on tight.

Every muscle in Combeferre’s body freezes.

It takes a moment of contact, but suddenly the room around him fades to a blur as warmth expands in his chest, starting at his mark and growing out in scorching wisps that give in to a sensation of pleasure all over his body.  A curl of possessiveness runs up his spine, and it takes him a second to realize it’s not him. He feels Enjolras clearly, as loud and passionate as ever. There’s excitement and a rush of protectiveness thrumming though them, making Combeferre feel curiously safe and _whole_.

They let go at the same time, breathing heavy as they stare at each other. The sensation is gone, but not without leaving an aftermath of warmth on his mark.

“Was I feeling what you were feeling?” Enjolras asks, “Just then?”

“Are you okay?” he looks paler than before, his gaze unfocused. Grantaire draws him in closer while checking over his face.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he says when Combeferre reaches for him, pushing him back a little.

“Oh,” Combeferre says, a gust of wind stealing through his mouth. He retracts his hand and goes to step away, but Grantaire’s grip is firm. He stays still and tries not to listen to the voice of doubt whispering urgently in his head.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire says carefully.

“It’s gone again,” he whispers with a grave expression.

“How did it feel, when I touched you?”

Enjolras goes pink, dropping his gaze.

Taking a chance he reaches out once more. This time, Combeferre touches his hand to Enjolras’ neck slowly, leaving him time to turn away, making contact when he doesn’t. Just like before, it takes a moment and then a familiar warmth thrums throughout his chest. A part of him is expecting Enjolras to flinch back, instead he does is smile serenely.

Combeferre leans in, when and gradually presses his lips to Enjolras’, years of longing poured into the touch of their lips. They’re wrapped in each other now, all three of them, and the bond seems to amplify the feeling in every nerve of his body, or maybe that’s Grantaire’s hand at his back and Enjolras lips parting for him. Suddenly, he’s gasping into Enjolras’ mouth, quickly saying _do you want to_ and not even finishing the question before the other two are nodding in agreement.

For all his daydreaming, Combeferre hadn’t ever considered the actual execution of being with both these men at once; and he couldn’t say he knew now either, since the path from the kitchen to the bedroom is a blur of kicked off clothes and tentative groping.

Enjolras is kissing Grantaire as they enter the room, his hand pulling Combeferre along. He can actually _feel_ what the kiss is doing to him, there’s so much ardor there that it’s almost overwhelming.  

They tumble on to the bed without him, taking the last pieces of each other’s clothes off like it’s a well rehearsed routine. Combeferre takes off his shoes and is left shirtless, watching them as he stands at the foot of the bed.

The sight is breathtaking. Enjolras is nipping at Grantaire’s ear, Grantaire lifting his chin and expose his neck, Enjolras sliding against him as they trade kisses. Watching them together makes him so hard he’s light-headed with it, barely able to see straight.

They’re both down to their underwear when Grantaire falls against the bed rest with Enjolras on top of him. They both look back, mouth turned down and brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asks as Grantaire sits up.

“Nothing,” he says, and really means it, “just enjoying the view.”

“Well take off those pants so we can enjoy it too,” Grantaire says with sly grin.

Combeferre’s face heats up but he obliges enthusiastically. When he unbuttons his pants, Grantaire adjusts Enjolras so he’s facing Combeferre as well, sitting in between Grantaire’s legs. Enjolras starts rocking back towards Grantaire as they watch; Combeferre can only stare as Grantaire reaches under Enjolras underwear and starts moving his hand, making Enjolras tilt his head back and gasp, exposing his smooth neck.

Combeferre is quick to strip after that, leaving everything on the floor to climb in front of them. He kneels in front of them and dips down to kiss Enjolras eagerly, which brings him so close that he can feel the movement of Grantaire’s hands against his shaft. He pulls back and meets Grantaire’s eyes from across Enjolras. Grantaire tugs at Enjolras’ underwear until Enjolras helps him take them off. They dislodge for a moment but Grantaire quickly pulls him in again beforetentatively wrapping his hand around both of them.

“Oh,” then Enjolras is touching his mark, eyes glazed, and sending a burst of adoration through the bond. Combeferre focuses on Enjolras’ chest. It’s incredible; their marks would be exactly alike if it weren’t for the white line crossing over Combeferre’s own. “Is this okay?” he whispers softly. When Enjolras nods, he leans down and kisses the center of the mark, earning a shiver from Enjolras and a hard intake of air from behind him. Combeferre smiles when Enjolras’ breathing changes as his kisses trail across his shoulder to chest to his nipple, catching it between his lips and tugging slightly with his teeth.

“Fuck,” Grantaire pants. “Do you have any idea how hot that is?”

Combeferre pulls back, ignoring Enjolras’ whine of protest to reach the back of Grantaire’s neck and pull him in to a hard kiss, brushing the side of Enjolras’ face. “Shit,” Enjolras says empathically.

Their kisses aren’t the same. Grantaire is potent but still soft; he takes his time, alternating between sucking Combeferre’s tongue and biting his lower lip as he threads his fingers lightly through his hair. Enjolras is more forceful, hands pawing at Combeferre’s back as he kisses his way up Combeferre’s chest, a hint of teeth scraping across his mark.

He shivers when Enjolras growls under him, the light thrusts of Grantaire’s hand becoming harsher as he shoves up callously, pushing Enjolras harder against Combeferre and causing their dicks to rut against each other.  Combeferre cries out, blood singing as they rock harder into one another in search of more friction.

His head falls to Enjolras’ chest and Enjolras tugs at his hair, pulling him into a deep kiss, mouths open wide as their lips move in tune. Combeferre can feel everything from the texture of his mouth to Enjolras hard against him. He can hear Grantaire’s small intakes of breath and quiet moaning, his skin burning with it. The bond _aches_ inside him, intensifying every movement and making him yank them even closer, feel skin against skin all over.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Grantaire whispers. He keeps saying things, amazing and heartfelt promises about what he wants, what he needs to do to them both. He murmurs them into Enjolras’ ear, but loud enough for Combeferre to hear and slant his head towards him, trying to catch more as his breathing speeds up.

His words seem to be a tipping point for Enjolras, who shoves up forcefully once more and he comes, throwing his head back and kissing Grantaire, hands gripping at Combeferre’s waist tightly while his hips buck wildly. Grantaire’s hand finds his cock alone, steadily stroking it while Enjolras grinds against him. Combeferre is embarrassingly quick to follow Enjolras after that, body jerking at the stimulation and the sight of them before him. One second he’s feeling Grantaire’s hand and watching Enjolras lick his way into Grantaire’s mouth, then the next he’s coming with a chocked cry.

He rests his head against Enjolras, orgasm spilling out of him slowly. Grantaire finishes off with his own hand, Enjolras kissing him and rutting back against him as Combeferre reaches over to roam his hands on Grantaire’s chest. He can feel the steady shaking stop, followed by a soft groan. Combeferre’s breathing tries to even out and he sighs, relaxing into the warmth touching him and into the tenderness swelling in his heart.

“We should’ve been doing that ages ago,” says Grantaire. After cleaning up, they pile into the bed, still undressed and making a tight fit. With Grantaire on one side and Enjolras on the other he falters. By now he knows he’s more than welcome, but it still feels odd to be placing himself in the middle of them.

“Don’t do that,” Enjolras says, probably sensing his small pinch of doubt. Instead of being annoyed, Combeferre is stupidly grateful. He missed this _so_ much.

Enjolras words are hard but his eyes are soft, and Grantaire’s pressing against his other side, hand sliding to grasp his wrist and squeeze.

“I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave this bed,” he says in earnest.

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Grantaire replies with a booming laugh.

“Nope,” says Enjolras, “not at all, we can keep you chained up here, no problem.”

Combeferre swallows thickly, pushing down the emotions that that threaten to well up within him at their words.

“Really?” he teases, “you’d subject me to a direct act against my personal freedom?”

Grantaire snorts. “You wouldn’t mind,” he says in marvel, like it’s something he’s just realized.

He feels a hand on his chest, Enjolras starts petting his mark lightly, his lips parted. It makes Combeferre want to lean down and kiss him, so he does, reeling with the knowledge that he can do that now. He turns and kisses Grantaire as well, making their noses bump gently before their lips meet.

“The next time we do this, I want you to be in between us,” Enjolras says softly, mouth going to Combeferre’s shoulder to press his lips up his neck and back.

“The next time?” he asks breathlessly, distracted by Enjolras and now Grantaire’s mouths, kissing up both sides of his neck.

“Yeah,” Grantaire pulls back, propping up on his arm to lean over Combeferre. He smiles sweetly, hand brushing away Combeferre’s hair from his face. “The next time.”

With Grantaire’s tender smile and Enjolras warm hand on his chest, Combeferre nods, gently taking in the words.

“Okay, next time.”

 

***

 

**Epilogue**

Courfeyrac leans back and watches the fish with a frown. There’s a bright yellow one that’s been following him around the tank, every time he moves a pace or two, there it is, looking at him with its big round eyes. He swears its smiling at him too, the line on its face tilting up.

Courfeyrac just broke up with his girlfriend last night, a smartass biology student who modeled to pay for her fancy college tuition. He really doesn’t need some dumb fish following him around, smiling wide like it wants to rub his face in it.

“Why are we here again?”

“I like it here,” Enjolras shrugs, staring fondly at his significant others a few feet away. Combeferre has been spouting facts about every type of life form they’ve come across, and Grantaire’s jokingly tried to throw him off with obscure questions but it just makes Combeferre light up even more when he answers. It’s like watching a horribly informational match of trivia tennis.

Enjolras practically swoons trailing off after them, it’s kind of adorable.

“How are they getting along?” he wonders aloud.

“Good, actually.” They watch as Grantaire says something and Combeferre laughs loudly. It’s strange to see him like this. Though he’s always good humored, and the first to form a mischievous twinkle in his eye when ever Courfeyrac pulls a prank, he’s never as boisterous as he is around Grantaire.

“And you?” Courfeyrac asks. Enjolras smiles so gently he looks like a little bird, face relaxed and head bent forward. This is answer enough.

“Okay E, how have _you_ of all people got it all together? You’ve been dating two great guys for months now, happy as a clam. You guys are so easy going together, it just works. Tell me your secret,” he demands with a pout.

Enjolras laughs softly. “I suppose from the outside it looks like that but trust me, it’s not always easy. Mostly it’s working on smoothing things over. Grantaire still has some bad days and Combeferre gets pretty busy, I do too!” he adds when Courfeyrac raises his eyebrow at him, “And it’s easier with the bond, no misunderstandings, you know? It makes compromising easier when I don’t have to wonder what they’re both really thinking. But then it’s harder sometimes too; Grantaire gets jealous, though he’d never admit it and with Combeferre, sometimes it’s just too much, like I’ll explode from his understanding looks. I avoid touching Combeferre on those days.” He sighs, “But still, I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

Courfeyrac remembers a time when Enjolras wouldn’t talk about his feelings, gladly throwing around Courfeyrac’s toys instead. Though he can’t identify with Enjolras’ problem, he’s always had a bond with his soul mate and he couldn’t imagine not feeling her with him _all of the time_.

All he needs to do is send a practiced hum of curiosity to Margie to receive a burst of enthusiasm in return. He smiles, remembering she’s somewhere on a beach right now. Still, the fact that Enjolras is processing this relationship in his own needs makes him proud. His little boy is all grown up.

 “So, you aren’t going to seal the bond?”

“What?” Enjolras frowns. “No? It’s way too early to even think about it.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Enjolras insists, “besides, I’m not even sure we’ll ever do that.”

“Really?” he places a hand on his cheek, though he isn’t actually surprised.

“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be fair would it?”

“I thought you said R was fine with it.”

“Sure, he _says_ that, but it’d be weird, wouldn’t it? Being even more in sync, no privacy, ever? I don’t know.”

Courfeyrac tilts his head. “What about the legal benefits?”

“I don’t care about that,” says Enjolras.

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Fair enough, if it works for you.”

“We’re okay.” Is his mellowed answer, a word he’d never before associated with Enjolras.

 “They’re good for you,” Courfeyrac tells him.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling dopily again. He shakes his head and takes Courfeyrac by the arm, walking towards the other pair.

“Cheer up Courf. Who cares about a stupid catalogue model? At least you’ve got me.”

Courfeyrac ducks his head laughing. “You mean I’m stuck with you.” Enjolras knocks their hips together, despite his squeal of protest.

“Hey,” Grantaire says when they join them. “Did you know that most fish have taste buds all over their body,” he says in a high pitched tone, likely teasing Combeferre who rolls his eyes, grin not leaving his face.

Enjolras snorts, taking Grantaire’s outstretched hand and offering Combeferre his own. Courfeyrac lets them move ahead, trailing behind them.

He grabs his phone and takes a picture of them like this; the three of them linked together, and sends it to Jehan, sticking out his tongue when he writes the caption.

**_Adorable aren’t they?_ **

He pockets his phone, not waiting for a response as he runs to catch up. Maybe today he’s heartbroken but hey, those three are proof that things might have a way of working themselves out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://finditagain24.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


End file.
